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phantom-0-writer · 2 days

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Nightwing's car guy

Dick was doing well to establish himself in Bludhaven. He had an apartment, it was shitty but it was his. He had a day job as police officer, half the people there were in the cartels Nightwing was trying to crack down on, and the other half were in the cartels Nightwing was still trying to trace. He had his suit, still bat-grade, blue instead of the red, yellow, and green Jason got to wear now.

He did't have a cave. Or maybe it should be a nest because the whole bird thing. Burrow? What was the thing owls lived in called? The point is he made due without it. He had his apartment, and he had his supplies stashed away. It wasn't as much as in the Cave, but he didn't have Cave-funding. He could make due.

He didn't have an Oracle in his ear. But that came with the added bonus of not having a Bat either. He could do his own research, find his own information. And it wasn't like he and Babs were totally cut off. It was just only a little weird, because she was technically his ex. Sure she would be in his corner, but she was still his ex. He needed to save some face. Especially since he knew that Bruce and Babs liked to... talk. He could make due.

The only thing Dick was maybe, sorta, just maybe having a little trouble was with his bike. Well it wasn't his bike, it was Nightwing's. Which was precisely the trouble. He'd found a place to stash it, but Dick had never been a car guy... or in this case a bike guy. He would chase his rouges, speeding through the streets, and sure the bike was made for the tight corners and quick turns and the high speeds, and sure it could take a hit or two. But what about three or four? Or five?

Point was Dick needed a car- a bike guy. One that was cheap (he was only a cop), and knew how to not ask questions and keep his mouth shut (again- Nightwing's bike). All that on top of knowing enough on how to fix his bike. (it wasn't exactly the type you could find in store).

But the solution seemed to find him. Which Dick was aware was not generally how it worked, but he would count his blessings. He had been out on patrol, the type that had involved his bike and high speeds. Unfortunately it did not involve the perp in handcuffs and on his way to jail. Dick had been on his tail, could've had him too, if the bike hadn't started sputtering. Dick had done as much as he could for it, but she really needed a pair of eyes that actually knew what they were looking at.

Mumbling curses to himself, Nightwing had been ready to head off to at least catch a dust trail of what operation he'd find himself in next. He could feel the eyes watching him. His hair stood in edge, and when Nightwing turned to look around he couldn't see anyone. Maybe he was being haunted. Trying to arrange his bearings, Nightwing turned back around to get on his bike. When there was suddenly a mop of choppy black hair couched down next to it.

Nightwing blinked at him. How had he managed to get there? "Uh, something you need, man?" Nightwing asked the boy, totally not freaked out.

The boy- teen, he was only a year or two younger than Dick- looked up, large blue eyes staring. As if it was odd for Nightwing to have addressed him. It took him a moment longer to realize that the bike was, in fact, Nightwing's. "You need to change your [important engine part]." He pointed lamely, standing up to his height of only a hair shorter than Dick.

"How do you know that?" Nightwing asked before he could think of the danger the unknown person might pose.

"That's why it was making that sound. It'll put too much pressure on the engine so it won't be able to go as fast it would be otherwise. Which, I take it, would cause you problems." he tipped his head in the direction the rouge had run off in.

Nightwing considered it for just a moment, not wanting the perfect opportunity to get away from him. "Do you know how to fix it?"

The guy looked almost offended, "Yeah."

"I'll pay you." Nightwing jumped at the opportunity, "If you fix it."

Any normal person would've said no to a guy dressed in bullet-proof spandex with a blue bird on his chest and a weird mask. "Sure." He shrugged easily, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he eyed the vehicle. After a moment, "Name's Danny, by the way. You'd probably need to know that." Danny eyes his suit, "Who are you, like, blue-jay?"

"Nightwing." He corrected easily, his name hadn't made the streets yet.

"The Robin reject?" Was Danny immediate response, eyebrow arched up in amusement.

"The what?"

Danny grimaced, the laugh never leaving his face, "Ooh, sorry. Touchy subject?"

"I am not a Robin reject." Dick couldn't tell this civilian that he was Robin. Had been.

Nightwing's bike ran better than it had since he had moved to Bludhaven after Danny had gotten his hands on it. And Danny's payment of ("i don't trust ur money, just buy me food") lunch had been a steal in return. Maybe next time they should go somewhere a little nicer.

Because the bike was doing so well, after Danny fixed it.

Not for any other reason.

#dpxdc #danny fenton #danny phantom #danny and dick #batfam #dick grayson #batpham #dick his trying to build his crew in bludhaven and danny was the first recruit #danny is currently homeless at 18 #but he finally gets a job at an actual mechanic place and gets an apartment #happens to be the same one dick is living in #dick: hm i should greet my new neighbor #dick doesn't know how to feel abt danny (who he totally is not crushing on) moving so close #for work reasons #obviously #it's a uh- reads script- conflict of civilian safety #danny is kinda weirded out by civilian dick #who just keeps trying to find excuses to hang out #since danny's new to town and he's new to town #danny's like 18 #and dick is 19 #i've been on a danny and dick craze recently #if u couldn't tell from my dick-centric last posts lmao #even the one that was supposed to be abt konner ended up being abt dick #feel free to add

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nickle-moth · 3 days

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TW: BLOOD, GORE, UNCONSENTUAL BODY MODIFICATION, LOTS OF EYES, EYE CONTACT, UNSETTLING IMAGERY

(It's a horror exchange what did you expect)

Hello! This is a gift for @kitty-dunks for the @mcythorrorgiftexchange !

I hope you don't mind the first part of the fic is from Doc's perspective, I had an idea and got carried away lol. This is two drawings that I gave a story to, as I was having a lot of fun with the horror and decided to keep going. It's not quite 1,500 words but I feel like thats ok because my main objective was the drawings, and I just decided to try and write something, I'm not very good at writing but please enjoy!

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Characters: Docm77, Grian, Mumbo Jumbo, GoodTimesWithScar

Words: 1,200

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Doc was trying to fix his tunnel boar. After Grian and Scar blew it up, he kind of forgot about it in all the mayhem of their newfound war. So, he's fixing it. He has already gathered the resources necessary for this, it's just a matter of putting it all together. Doc was so focused on building; he never realized the sounds from the wardens had stopped. He was so focused; he never noticed the sound of an approaching entity. It sounded like a slime was trying to slither but was failing, but it was still approaching, and fast too. Doc had his back turned to the exit when he heard a noise. A small thump, from behind him. He turned around to see, nothing. 'Weird' he thought and went back to working on the tunnel boar.

Had it gotten colder? He swears it wasn't this cold before. Now shivering, he brushes it off as another weird thing about Hermitcraft, or it could be the altitude. Either way, he needs to get this done. Doc feels a… hand? No. Claws, run up his arm. He freezes as it grips his shoulder, and another clawed hand is set on his head. The claws feel eerily cold but, at the same time, warm, but the warmth isn't coming from the entity, no, it's coming from something liquid-like on its claws. Blood, he realizes. He should run, turn, and fight, do something… but he stands there, unable to move. Another hand grabs at his cyber-horn this time. 'How many hands does this thing have!?' Doc wanders to himself as he brings his hands up, hugging his arms.

He is terrified. In one quick movement, he is picked up off the ground and thrown against the wall. *CRACK* He has lost all feeling throughout his entire body. He is picked up with one of the clawed hands by his neck. Helpless now, as he can see his attacker.

The bottom half is a goopy black mess of god know what, and there’s three people, or what he assumes to be people, visible from the waist up: The Buttercups, Grian, Scar, and Mumbo. The one on the left, Grian, is wearing his normal outfit, red jumper pulled down just below the shoulders, with a black skintight shirt underneath. But his wings are bone, being held together by flowers (buttercups he asumes) and brown vines. His jaw has been torn off, revealing rows of sharp teeth, with more flowers at the corners of his mouth, and the vines growing out of his mouth and skin.

"Hello, there dear friend." Grian says with a voice that sounds way to friendly.

The one on the right, Scar, is wearing his Scarland uniform, the bright orange safety vest with a yellow stripe down each side, over a blue button up, with a white undershirt and a black tie. But he has large wings that could only be described as a vex's covered with the same yellow flowers, and brown vines. His mouth is spread uncannily across his face, with fangs poking through. and the scar on his face looks fresh and is growing more of the flowers and vines.

"We see you're fixing up your tunnel boar, sorry again about that." Scar says with the same over friendly voice.

The one in the middle, Mumbo, is wearing his normal black suit, white under shirt, and red tie. But his stomach has been torn open to reveal a worrying lack of organs, with only the heart remaining. Mumbo looks as if he were crying redstone. And a flower crown seems to be growing from his head, consisting of the same flowers and vines the other two had.

"I'm sorry it had to go this way, but we draw the line at eggs." Mumbo said, sounding genuinely sorry, and, was his voice coming from his chest?

Doc couldn't foucus on anything right now, as he was unable to speak, seeing as his spine was close to shattered, and he was being choked to death.

~~~~~

Doc awoke in a cold sweat. Had he just been killed? He checked his communicator, no death message, just: Docm77 went to sleep. Sweet dreams! It was a dream? No, it was a nightmare. He stumbled out of bed, and quickly pulled out his elytra, flying to The Buttercups camp. He landed and, there they were, The Buttercups, looking completely normal. Just as they normally do, no black mass, or flowers and vines growing from their skin.

"You good man?" Mumbo asked him, sounding concerned.

"Yep, fine!" Doc replied, way too quickly.

"Okayyy, well, I was 'bout to head off, those rocks don't build themselves!" Grian said standing up, he sounded nothing like he did in Doc's dream. With the overly friendly voice being replaced with his normal mischievous one.

"Ok, well, bye now."

Doc said and turned to leave but turned back just in time to see Grian fly off. Doc then turned right back to the Perimeter and flew back to his base. Ignoring the black goop, he swore he saw on Grian's wings.

~~~~~

"That was weird, even for Doc, right?" Mumbo asked his friend. Scar, who was sitting right next to him agreed.

"Maby he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed? Happens to me all the time!" Scar's voice was just as cheery as it normally is.

"Let’s be real, he was probably fretting over the prank Grian had us play on him." Mumbo admitted.

Like saying his name had summoned him, Grian popped up behind them.

"You're probably right Mumbo."

"AHHHH!!" Mumbo and Scar screamed in unison, falling off the logs they were sitting on.

"HOW DO YOU DO THAT!?"

"YOU DIDN'T EVEN MAKE ANY NOISE!!"

The Buttercups were now laughing with each other, and the successful prank they pulled on Doc. If he was going to fill their bases with eggs, then they would retaliate. And Grian had a plan the end this silly war, but it would require a load of grass and dirt. And some outside help most likely!

~~~~~

Mumbo awoke with a jolt, as his lower body was in pain. Not sure what to do, he wobbled out of his little tent, Grian had convinced them to stay at the Buttercup Camp tonight, something about 'Doc might want revenge so we should stay together.' Mumbo was pulled from his thoughts when he saw Scar lying on the ground curled up on himself. He stumbled over to his friend, crouching down and laying a hand on his shoulder,

"You ok dude?" He asked Scar, getting only a muffled groan in response, he continued,

"Me too man, I'm not sure whats going on."

Moments later, Grian emerged from his tent and joined them in the center of the camp,

"All three of us? What's going on?"

As soon as he said that, the three were hit with an immence pain from their waists to their feet, and in an instant, there was an explosion of pitch black goop, combining the three into one entity.

Grian's jaw had been ripped off in the blast, with yellow buttercups, and brown vines growing at the corners of his mouth. The feathers and flesh had melted from his wings, leaving bone that was being held together by the same flowers and vines.

"What the hell?" He said with a shaky voice, or said as well as you can say something with no jaw. But still understandable, suprisingly.

Scar's mouth had torn at the corners, giving him a wide and eeri grin. The scar that adorned his face looked fresh, like it had just been given to him, and had more of the flowers and vines growing from it. His vex wings had trippled in size, now covedered by the buttercups and vines.

"What's going on!? Whats happening to us!?" Scar said through the pain of his new mouth.

Mumbo now had a gapping hole in his chest, or rather his chest was now a giant hole, with all of his organs missing, whith the exception of his heart, but it wasn't beating. The flowers and vines were growing from his head in the shape of a crown, a flower crown. His eyes had begun to spill redstone, like he was crying, burning his eyes as the redstone-tears ran down his face. His mouth had been sewn shut with the vines.

"I think were becoming the monster we used to prank Doc." He said, although, it sounded like it came from his chest. Where from in his chest? Who knows.

There body's (and minds for that matter) had become distorted. They had been robbed of their memories, personalities, and humanity, all three now shared one mind, and that mind had one thought: Kill Docm77. But the goop wasn't going to leave them unarmed, no, it gave them a weapon, with a suspiciously familiar symbol on it. And the ability to perma-kill any player.

With their new weapon, and lack of self-control, they went in search of Doc.

~~~~~

He was fairly easy to find, just go to The Perimiter (wich they were right next to), and look around. And as soon as Buttercup laid eyes on Doc, he was doomed. They slowly approched from behind, not wanting to scare their prey.

~~~~~

Doc was playing with his tomatoes. They don't get much attention, seeing as Doc is very busy most of the time. With the war, and The Perimeter nowhere near done, he doesn't have much off-time. But he has some now, so he's using it wisely. But the tomatoes are acting strange, are they… trembling? And some are hopping off too. Oh dear.

" H̴̡̨̢̜̣̘̝͇̻̺̮̥͌̊̐̌͋͘͜ͅe̷̞̱̭͈̟̎͐̓̓̃̑͋l̵̪͍̙̱̇̐̎͆̽̀͑̆͑̒̆͜͝l̸̨͎͈͚̫̘̬̼̳̳̱͉̪̦̜̽͐͒̽͂̈́̃͆̕ǫ̷̗͚̫̬̟̘̪͖̝̆̈̒͘ ̷̡̡̻͍̗̮̘͖̲̣͒͌̄̀̈̿͆́̇͊͘̚͜͠͠a̸̳̐̌̔̈̈́̉́̿̂g̴̦͎̭̼̝̰͈̈́̂͊̂̉͂̏̒͊̂̔̆ͅa̷̧̧͙̮̣͍͔̣͎͙̯͔̻̾̍̚͠ͅi̴̡̺̗̣̭̰͓͈͇͕͖̼͍͈̖͆͒͒̇̇̌́̆̃̿̓͒̎n̷̝̎̓̆͝ " (Hello again) Three voices said at once, but heavily distorted.

Doc turned around, slowly, and was face to face with the monster of the buttercups he faced in his dream.

"Th- this… has to be a dream again, right?" He asked… himself? The monster?

"h̵̨̩̪̜̙̘̠͇̠̺̰̜̠͌͌̎͛̿̔̔̾ͅe̶̻̗̔̐̕̚͜h̴̛̙̟̥͔̙̭̋̑̋͛͐̽̒̀͝͝ę̵̡̧̢̧̛͖̰̹̻̗̞̻̝̽̃̏͆̈́̕ͅ,̵̟̲̼͈̭͖̰̍́̏̍͛̏͗̇̓̀̐͗͠ ̵̢̙̺̭͙̠͕̙̹͑̀͜s̴̛͕̝̗̠͔̊̆ǒ̴̢͈͙̬͓̜̘̰̂͜͜ŗ̶̝͔̳̹͎̗͎̘̘̤͛͑̿̒̕̕r̶̢̧͓͇̞̹̲͈̹̰͉͎̀̂̽͆͜͝͝y̶̨̩̞̰͖̺̠̘͗̍̏͆͊̔̾͑̉̈̉̈́̀̔͠,̷̨̛̝͓͈͂͂́̓͆̏͆̓̿͊́͌̿͜ ̴̛̦̻̼̲̲̤̍̐͊͛̈̑̅̌͌̌̆ͅb̶͔͔̗̠̫͇̊͋͂̌̅͝ữ̶͔̗͎̥͛̌̊͒͆̾͘͜͝ţ̵͈͍͇̥̞̌̆͊͑͂͠͠ͅ ̵̢̨̻̞̜̗̰̦̟̟͐̀̈͐̌͑̈͂̈́̀͐͆̃̓ń̵̡̡̹̜̖̗̻̹̩̟́ỏ̸̯̣̟̈̈̈́̃̉̓͂́̀͘.̶̧̛͔͍̯͔̩̃͂̀͊͑̇̈̽́̒͘ͅ " (hehe, sorry, but no.) It responded, giving him the answer he feared most.

Doc turned, and ran. He ran far enough to equip his elytra, and fire a rocket. Only to be shot out of the sky by god knows what, but it wasn't an arrow. Hitting the ground took half of his health, with no time at all to react, he was pulled to his feet by his horn, with a large clawed hand that seemed to be giving him a potion effect. 'What potio-' Stopped halfway through his thought by an ache in his head, 'Oh, wither effect' Not good, not good at all. Then, something started to block his vision, the ach growing and spreading, and now acompanied by brown vines (the ones that adorned The Buttercups) and, looking down at his hands, the flowers too. He was thrown against the wall, being held to it by the vines, and now had a good look at the monster in front of him. The temperature had dropped by atleast 20° (Fahrenheit).

"W̷̛̛̹͓̲̞͉̘̟̹̭͉̦̑̈̈́̀͒̓͘͝ę̵̛̤͙̭̮͎͙̘͇̓̈̐̉̋'̴̛̖̖͉͎̯̠̯́̀͗͛̉̇͋̾͛̊͜͝v̷̭͉͚́́̊̀̚̚͝e̷̛͎̖̜̝̘͙͈̓͌͑̽͋́̚͝ ̶̛̘̭̭̲̺̪͓̠̜͓͙̣͎͝ͅb̷̢̹̖̹͖̠̲̺̀͑͂̈́̎̅͠͝é̸͉̺̠̉̓ę̶̛̜̩̜̘͔͇̙̞͖̪͍̋́̇̉̊͋̓͊́̎̑͂ͅn̸̠̰̯͙̊͊́͒̏̋͐̂̒͛͆͠ ̸̨̛͚̩̘̬̼͙͉̤̄͊͒̄́͘ģ̴̬̦̮̥̥͇̓̐̓̽̈́̈͗͋̇͑́͘̕̕͝ĭ̸̧͚͕͔̟̺͉͓̳̻͍̮̝̼̜̔͆͗̎͑̆̄̚͝v̶̧̩͖͎͇̣͔̭̪̼̜̭̜͊͋̀̍̃͂̋e̶̡̮̬̭͋̓̂̿̍͐̿̊́͌͗͛̎̚ͅn̵̨̫͙̯̲̺̻̟̲̖̣̲͚̙̓͐̉̌̎̃̌̊̄̓̅͜ ̸̨̢̡̼̲̞͍͚͓̺̹̩̰̱̼̿ḁ̴̪̈́̂̐́̈́̈́̚͠ ̸̮̩̈́͆͑̔͑͌̎̍̍̉͆͠g̶̨͖͍̼̦̙̮̉́́̽̑̅̀́ͅō̵̰̳͕̙̦̩̚à̴̛͈̦̖͖̫͈̠̪́̒̀̓̿̓̍̚̚͜͜l̶̙͉̍̒͂͗͛͑̍͗̉̇̏͊,̵͉̏̂̓̿̒̚̚ ̸̡̧̘̗͙̖̘̥̖̪̆̂â̵͖̯̙͉̪̈́̂̂̊̒̈́͜͝n̷̨̖͎̮̖̼͖̦̖͒͗̐̀̈́͌̃͝͠d̶̗̫̫̤̜̳͇̳̜̦̘̀̍ ̷̣̮̗̮̫̺̥̣̗̹̣̅̇̐̒͜ͅr̸͓̍͋e̸̡̧̢̧̡͖̱̻̦͉̮̻̻̲̝͆͛͐̄́ḟ̴̯̩̠͉͎͖̘̯̱̘͓̟͕̩̗̉̾͝u̵͔͍̜̿̈̅̌̈́ṡ̶͙̗̜̺͓̻͖̭̺̠̯͓̘͆̽͘ẽ̶̡̛̟͚̝̯͕̜̖̗̞̘͙́̅͛͌̌̍̑̇̍́̍͝͠ ̴̢̨̫̥̩̬̰̪̙͔͓̌̿̆̊͛̅̓͐̒͛̌̕t̷̢̨̼̟͚̙̘̖̣̤͇͙̺͛͆͂̈́̈́̿͛͊̌͜͜͝o̵̹̣̝̝̭͚̲̪̺̙̩͆͒̓̔͆̃̐͊͠ ̷̦̏͋̒̐f̷͖̥͙̻̈̈a̷̘̱̳̲͐̽̉̆̂̃͐͐̌̆͘͘͝i̸̩̫̟̹͆̇̾̀͋͆͂̌͌̕̕͝͠͠l̴̡̠̳͍̦̰̥̲̫̯̈́̾̃̔̈́̐̈́.̸̡̜̗̫̘̕ " (We've been given a goal, and refuse to fail)

Suddenly, a cold blade is plunged through his chest and pulled out again. It leaves, leaving him to bleed out, held to the wall by vines and flowers, bleeding out, and cold and tired, Doc sits, and waits for a respawn that never comes, left to float in the endless void of the afterlife.

~~~~~

Buttercup now has no goal, no driving motivation, nothing keeping it in line, the goop leaves it to its own accords. Buttercup goes mad. It was designined to kill Doc. But there is no Doc to kill. What is it supposed to do.

" W̴̛̪̟̬̹̤̔̿͑̈͑͆̅̚ḩ̷̦͍͉̯̪͇̞̘͇̰̰̽̈́̃̄́̍̅̌͆͠a̶̱̘͔̰̮͈̼͋̆͊̑̓̓͌̄͘͜t̷̬̻͍̥̠̲̀͒̊̚͝ ̷̳̦̣̟͎̳̩̹̾̃̌̄͂͋͑́͜͠͝a̵̧̨̠̳̖̭̪̬̪̪̗̽̆̀r̴̞͕̐̔̆̉͝͠ͅȩ̵̞̠̣͙̖̮̪̤̋̾͗̔̅̾̈́͘̕͠ ̷̡̠̣̻̝̍͋̑͂̍̓̓̆̂̍ͅw̸̨͇͈̍̽͆̇͛̅̉͜é̵̢̮̦͇̞̥̟ ̵̦͇̫̣̺͓̥͔̣̩̗̥̌̐͌̑̈́̓̈͛̃̔͌͝ͅs̶̛̤̼̒̎̇͛͆͛̎̽͛̀̎ư̴̢̳̙̝̤̳̪̇̄̈́̕͠p̴̢̨̧̡͔̳͚̯͇̦̥̟͖̰̊̓̈́̇̽̇̓̀͂́͘͜p̸̢͉̰̬̤͇̮̗̰̠̦̣̤̣̆ͅơ̸̧͙͉̞͍͖͈͆̏̍͌̈́̾͊̏̔̂͘s̸̝͔͙̉͐̎̐̍̏̄́̓͝͝e̴̛͓͍̟̝̱̙͐͒̈́͆̕̚̚͝͠d̷͕͎̰̹͕̜̩̜͚̈́̔̒̀͑̀̇̚̕͝͠ ̸̜̥̦̲̬̏̊t̵̨̫̝͎̜̦͖̟͉̳̜̅͂̅̎̑̍͛̈́̋̚͜͠ͅõ̵̢̱̹͎̒̒̊̂̓̊̈́̒͆͠͝ ̵̧̨̡̧͉͈͗͌̀̉͒͋d̴̡̨͕̠̝͓͖̠̙͍̰̈́͐̓̋̃̀̅͌̚̚ó̸̧͓̜͚̲̯̦͔̅̍̇̕͝?̴̡͎̭͙̲̫̼̯̜͌ " (What are we supposed to do?) It cries out, into the night, with no one to hear it.

" W̶̧̡̧̠̪̫̥̩̩̖̱̻̪͕͂̅͐͋̈́̆̾͂̂ê̴̡͔̫͇̲̯̬̈́̾͊̿̕ ̴̤̬̩̞̦̗̜̻̜͎͔̰̼̏͋͒͊̄̓̋͋̈̍̀̿̇͝͝w̵̧̘̣̗͚̳̱̫̠̠͛̔ͅę̶͇̫͙̗̙͎̭̍ͅͅͅŕ̶̡͈̹͆̎̊͐͒̓̅͂̈́́̚͝ę̸̧̼̘͕̥̱̞͕̬̣̿̔̋̔̋̅̓̈́̂̍͒̈́̈̚͜ ̸̧͍͈͙̥̠̣̮̗͉̀̈̋̎͗̀̆̑̊̋͝d̸̢̗̱̜̙̩͉̠͂̄͊̌̋̎̔̓̕̚͜e̶̢͙̲͈̳͙̙̘͍̿̊͐͛̿͐̽̐͐́̓͛s̴̡̲͎͇̻̟̀͛̊̃͂͂̒͊͆͗͋̚͝i̴̹̒͌̌̿̕̕͝ģ̴͓̥̞̫̭̱̩̥̺͕̥͂̆͜ṋ̶̨̛̝̞͓̐̄̊̈́̕͠i̸̩̤͆͊̈̈́̀̓̎̕̕̚͝n̴̨̧̼̣̱̱̳͈͇̠̹͈̆̀̃̇̔̿̏̔͒̿͛͆͘͜͠ȅ̴̢͈͇͔͚̠͉̝͓̬͂̏̅͒̑͌͌̌̓̀̎̚͝d̶̡͈͍̼̙̼̻͈͈̈̽̿̊͑̆ ̸̡̳̖̯͇̭̘̟̭̘̙̥̉͛͆̍͝t̷̝̘͖̑͑̈́̈̍̀̏̃͆͌̓̎͊o̵̡̡̺̳̩̬̤͉͑͗͌͑̿̃͊̀̏̍͊̉ ̴̛̜̩̥̍̏̆͗̑̋k̸͈̻̈́͝i̴̠̟̟͎̺͇̘̱̻͖̪̕ͅl̸̮̳̫̬̳͈͍̪̱̹̮͇̽́̊̎͜͜ļ̷̛̛̠͚͐͗̽̒͐̀̈́͋͐̏͝,̶̨̨̢̢̮͇͙̯̳̤̰̻̟̹̬̍̌̈̈́̾̑͆̓͘̕͘͠ ̴͖̗̞̟̙̝̐̂̓̄̇̈́͊͐̊̓͛̃̀̚͠s̴̨̘̣̜̻̣͕͚͔̮͍̝̻͔̈́́͋́͌̒̈́͒̌̿̐̂̓͘͜ȯ̸̢̞͎̻̻̣̖̙̹̘̲͐̇̕͜͜ ̶̮͓̰̖͔̍͋͠͝l̵̳̭̰̲̂͆̓̍͑̓̈̆͝͝ͅě̸̛͙͙̮̚t̶̫̝͚̗̺̯͇̞̉͗̂̈́̃̿̿̾̀̋͋̈́͝͠ş̸̘̤̮̫́͌̈́̊́̅̎͘͜͝͠ ̴̢̱͓̲̮̝̗̱̥͖̗͍͌d̴͚̪̲̮͇̟̼͍̉ȍ̸̩͕̤̳̞̯͎̥͚̣͈̈̄̔͑͌̿̏͗̆̕͝ͅ ̶͚̖͚͇̖̦̝̜͉̦̳̇̓̐j̴̨̧̛̞͔̦̥̿̓̀̋͑͌̔̈́͊̂͋͠ͅư̷̢̮̥͉̘̙̩̤͉͇͉̝͌̽̽́̄͊̾̍̈́̒́ͅş̷̧̟̯̯̙̭̙̼̖̦̪͎̌̓̐̈́́̅̂̅̍̈́̍̅̕͜͝ͅt̶̛̼̜͚̹͗̓̃ ̴̧̛̲̦̼̼̟̙̦̻̭͔̫̫͆̅̑͐̃͆͂͐͑̅ť̵̡̝͇̜̦͇͖̅̈́h̷̬̮̻͚̰̦̗̮͙̄̍̒̇͆̊̾̀̄̓̉͜ā̴͖̜̠̩͖̖̐͒͋̇t̵̡̫̭̙̜̣̜̥͓̝̬̰̃̇̾̇̀̋̽͐̀̊͘.̵̪̣̮̰̍̈̂̂̌̋̈͒̐̀͠͝ " (We were designined to kill, so lets do just that.)

With a new motivation, one not crafted by the goo, but by its own mind, the one it was given by the rough dream magic, it set out to kill. Anything that it saw.

" Ẹ̸̠̘̯͚̻̫͔̮͈̳͈̝͋s̵̛̯̰͎̟͕̟̫̩̩̬̻̤̟̀̎̽̑͂͊͐͠ͅp̵̡͎̹͉̖̭͕̟͍̝̳͆̿̈͘͜ě̷̙̟̥̤͐̓́͗̆̄̚͝ç̶̼͖̀͂́̈͋̚į̸̡͍̖̟̺̮̙̜̪̤̓̽̄̒̇͗̑̉͘͝ͅa̶͇̳͉͙͎̾̀̈͒l̷̨̨̢̠̠̲̬͔̤̥̎̍͐̾̃̌͝y̷̦̘̞̮̒̀̃͑̽͠ ̷̨̰̘͙̖̬͉̠̭̱̯͊̓̓̈́̑͆͋̉͂̐̊͌̂b̴̯̰̙̻͔̙̝̤̺͙͑̀̓̒̄̑̿̊͛̐̑́̍̚u̴̡̢̖̠̹̟̟̟̫̓̓͊n̸̲̲̪̦͉̥̙͒̑̋̓̔̄̾̒͘n̷̡̪͈̱̭̱̗̫̰̣̜̖͊̑͜͜i̸̹̣͚͙̙͛͆̓̔́̇̈́͑̓ȅ̶͓̊̔̀͌͂̄͑̉̎͘͘s̵͓̜͇̝̦͍̘̀̽̊̋̓͠,̵̖͚͂̃̓̒̀͑͒̈́̚ ̶̨̩͍̗͇͕͎̯̻̥̟̥͔̋̉̄̑͋̓͗̀̅́̄̚͝͝ͅv̷̧̝̟͍̮͉̦̩̬͉͂͗̋͌̈́͜ĭ̶̡̧̧̛̹̝̫̮̯̤̲̎̈̆̋̌̈́̾̅̕͜l̵̗̼͙̰̲̫̎̆̓̾̔̒͒̀̏̒̈́̕͘͘͝ȩ̶̣͙̹̯̘̹̤͇͇̟̺̜̈́̈͌̄̊̃̔̔̈͆̅͆͛͐ ̸̢̛͚̗̝̻͉͓̫͉̩̟̪̠͒̈́̎̔̔̑̋̚͜v̸̧̧̱̣̗͔̜̻̭̥̥̭͉̊͐̿͗̌͂̕̕̚ͅẽ̶̢̞̼̼̪̤̹͎̼͈̗̙̬r̶̢̜̦̥̙̓̀̎̕̕͝m̷̦̟̮͚̞̲̅̏̑̐̉̅͛͒͑͑̽͊̕͘͠i̶̢͓͚̫̠͇͎͌̌͑͂̏̈́̂́̈́͝͠ñ̴̛͙̹̥͉͙̩̳̟̮̫̜̹̂̃͐̏́͐̐͊͑͠ȩ̸̯̩̬̹̺̊̂̈͌̿̔͒̂̈́̒̑̈́͗ͅs̷̠͙̲̺̣̯̜͙̗̬͙̥̝̖̏͛̉̒̔͌̌̆̍͝!̸̟̤̩̜̝̒̀́̈́͋͐͗̀̋̓̀̀́͜͝͝ͅ " ( Especialy bunnies, vile vermines!) Part of it said, wierd, but ok?

"STOP" A voice echoed from above.

With a flash of purple, all that remained of the encounter was the vines on the wall, and a note that said.

"Corrupted or killed,

but gone nevertheless.

Say goodbye to your friends,

and the dream magic mess."

Along with the death message in chat:

Docm77 was slain by ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤ using The Watchers Blade

~~~~~

The members of Hermitcraft learned not to mess with dream magic after the Buttercup Incident. For they had lost three friends to maddness, and one more to the maddness of the others. Memorials are set up for them each season after season 9, along with the memorial for TFC.

#nickleart #nicklefic #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: unsettling #tw: eye contact #tw: lots of eyes #mumbojumbo #mumbo fanart #goodtimewithscar fanart #goodtimeswithscar #grian #grian fanart #docm77 #docm77 fanart #hermitcraft season 9 #mcythorrorgiftexchange #unsettling imagery

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heuninqkai · 1 year

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muwapsturniolo · 3 months

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✯So Hard PT. 3✯

Summary: the two enemies put their differences aside (sort of) and finally execute the sexual tension that has been brewing between them for years.

Warnings: degradation, mouth/throat fucking. use of force, spit, cum, sloppy blowjobs.

pt1 pt2

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Y/N can't help but feel nervous as she parks her car in the triplet's driveway. Usually, when she arrives at the triplet's house, she's perfectly calm, ecstatic even.

It's different this time around.

Instead of coming to hang out with Nick and Matt like she usually does, she's coming to have sex with their brother. The same brother whom she argues with on a daily (no, like the two of them argue every day, even when they aren't in the same vicinity.)

As she climbs out of her car, she notices the triplet's own car is gone. She begins to think one of two things, either all of them left and she's going to beat Chris's ass and cry later for making her look goofy, or Matt and Nick left leaving her and Chris alone.

She hopes it's the latter option.

Taking a deep breath, she walks up to the door. She goes to knock but stops when she remembers it was unlocked.

Walking into the house, it's abnormally quiet. There's always some type of noise going on considering it's three boys living with each other, but she tries to pay no mind to it.

"Nick? Matt?" Y/N calls out. Part of her hopes they answer, but another part of her doesn't.

She will be completely honest, she's thought about Chris fucking her multiple times. Even though the two relentlessly argue, she can't help but notice how attractive he is. The way his blue eyes darken a shade or two when he's irritated, the way his muscles show when he flexes his arms a certain way. Y/N's favorite is when he gets a sly smirk across his face when he successfully annoys her.

She notices the two boys she called out for didn't answer. She takes off her shoes and softly walks to Chris's room. The door is cracked and a faint yellow light is peaking through. She pushes the door open more and steps inside. As she does so, she notices Chris has on headphones and is nose-deep in his phone. She doesn't know what to do to get his attention. She's sure if she tries to scare him, he will get pissed off and try to cuss her out.

Suddenly, she gets an idea. She approaches him from behind and rips out his airpod, "Nick what the fuck are you-" Chris stops when he sees Y/N.

She's wearing those little pink shorts that are doing nothing to cover her ass (not that Chris is complaining), and a pink tube top that her boobs look amazing in.

Y/N sees the way he's looking her up and down, and it intimidates her slightly. His eyes are dark and his jaw is clenched. Suddenly, he speaks.

"Took you long enough, I was getting ready to take a nap."

The girl rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, " Shut the hell up, I didn't even take that long!"

That same sly smirk that Y/N knows, loves, and hates at the same time makes its way onto Chris's face as he stands up, "You're right, you honestly got here fast. Was it because you were eager to have my dick down your throat, or was it because you wanted to experience sex with me so damn bad?"

Y/N says nothing as she glares at Chris. The way he spoke his words so calmy, the way he was staring her down so confidently.

She loved it.

"It was both wasn't it?" His hands grab at her waist, pulling their bodies together. Y/N can't help it, her breathing starts to get harsher.

"It's ok to be excited-" he whispers in her ear as one of his hands slides down to her ass. He grips it, kneading the dough-like skin in his palm. He would never admit it to anyone, but he has dreamt of this multiple times. All of his friends would tell him that Y/N has a fat ass, and he had to act like he was disgusted at the comments when in reality, he wanted to cop a feel for himself.

Now he finally gets to.

"I'm excited too." He begins to kiss her neck lightly. Y/N slowly begins to relax, allowing her arms to drop as she eases into Chris's body, eyes closed and all.

He starts biting, sucking softly at the brown skin on her neck, "If you leave a mark I'll kill you Chris."

"Shut up, we both know you're going to leave scratches on my back. I think it's fair if I leave something on you." He raises his head from her neck and leans in close.

Their lips are basically touching, the tension getting thicker and thicker until finally,

They kiss.

It starts off soft and slow, both of them a bit hesitant since they are enemies and whatnot; but it gets more intense. Y/N throws both of her arms around Chris's neck as he moves his other hand to her ass, harshly gripping the skin.

Teeth begin to clash as tongue and spit mix,

They can't get enough of each other.

Chris harshly throws her on the bed before climbing on top of her and starting the assault on her neck. He could smell the brown sugar and vanilla lotion she always wore, and it was driving him crazy. He could always smell her when she walked past, her scent lingering, teasing him.

He was eager to see how she would actually taste.

Y/N begins to rut against Chris's knee. She couldn't help it, she was aching to be filled up. She hasn't had sex in a couple of months and now that the opportunity is here, she can't control herself.

Chris smirks feeling the girl rut against him. Out of habit, he begins to tease her. "Aww look at you, so eager for some form of friction you're resulting to rutting against me like a damn dog in heat."

The words go straight to her core.

Y/N didn't realize how much she liked being talked down to (when it's coming from Chris that is.)

She arches her body into his, begging for him to touch her without actually speaking.

Chris knows what she wants, but of course, he has to be an asshole. "you want more?"

Y/N quickly nods her head.

"what do you want? my fingers-" his nimble fingers brush the wet patch in her shorts,

"my mouth-" he plants a kiss on her neck,

"or my dick?" He moves her hand to his bulge.

Y/N's mind is in overdrive. So much yet so little is happening and yet, she can't think properly. Chris becomes agitated with how long she's taking to answer so, he takes matters into his own hands. "Fine, since you want to act dumb, I'll decide for you. Get on your knees," he demands.

As if a switch flipped in Y/N's head,

"I'm not sucking your dick."

It's like an old western show down the way the two stare each other down.

Suddenly Chris yanks her by her hair and forces her on her knees.

"You just love being a brat, don't you?" Y/N cracks a slight smile, showing he's right.

"You just love making my life harder," he begins to pull his sweatpants down, leaving him in his boxers. Y/N peeks at the bulge in her face and she can feel her mouth watering for it.

She could see the outline, it was big. 8 inches at most, skinny but thick at the same time. She could tell it had a big tip.

Slowly, she reaches her hands up and begins to palm at him. "Keep teasing and I won't fuck you all." He spits out.

Y/N tilts her head in a taunting manner, "You said it yourself you want to fuck me, we both know you won't take that away."

Chris doesn't like how she called his bluff. He shoves his boxers down before forcing himself in the girl's mouth, all the way down her throat. "All you do is talk, talk talk talk. Why don't you put that mouth to use for once." He watches as the girl gags around him, tears instantly forming in her eyes.

Chris has dreamed of this, seeing the girl he hates choke on his dick. It was concerning how many times he thought about dragging her to the bathroom when they all went out and fucking her mouth.

He eventually pulls away letting Y/N catch her breath. The girl coughs for a few seconds before looking up at Chris. After she catches her breath, she wraps her acrylic nails around him, sliding her hand up and down his length.

Chris watches with hooded eyes as he takes deep shakey breaths.

She leans forward and wraps her lips around his tip.

Her lips were big and plump, constantly moisturized so they were pillow-like. Chris was in heaven.

She slowly begins to lick around him as she takes him fully into her mouth, her hands fondling his balls.

Chris throws his head back feeling the warmth of her mouth.

"Fuck your mouth feels good." He looks back down to see Y/N already holding eye contact.

If there was one thing he loved about Y/N (besides her lips), it was her eyes. They were so big and doe-like, but half of the time she looked like a siren when she had her lashes on.

Just her looking at him on the daily had him bricked up.

Still holding eye contact, Y/N pulls away and rubs the tip on her puckered lips.

"You're such a fucking brat."

He pulls her curls into a makeshift pony, shoves himself in her mouth while holding her nose, and begins fucking her mouth.

Y/N is so caught off guard, that her hands fly to his thighs in an attempt to slow him down.

It doesn't work.

Y/N opens her mouth wider as she gags around him, spit pooling at the sides of her mouth and dripping down onto her chest. She could feel the liquid making her nipples hard.

Due to how hard he's going, Y/N ends up falling back against the edge of the bed, trying to get him away from her. "You're already-fuck-running? I'm not even in you the way I want to be and you can't take it." He lets go of her nose so she can breathe better.

Chris looks down as he's fucking her mouth and he so badly wants to take a picture.

The spit running down her mouth, the tears running down her face, her eyeliner running.

It's a sight he will never forget.

He feels his orgasm approach so he goes even faster, "Where do you want it? huh? fuck- you want in on your face? that nice chest-"

He stops thrusting and stalls deep in her throat, "I think your throat is the perfect spot."

Y/N feels the warm liquid shoot into her throat and start to drip down, as Chris throws his head back, letting out a deep groan.

He slowly pulls out of her mouth and watches as she coughs and tries to catch her breath.

All Chris can do is stare at her. If she's fucked out from this, he could only imagine how she will look when he's actually had his fun with her.

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finally put out the third part of this😭😭 idk why it took me so long. im telling yall now, 'freshlove for the fit' will take even longer, plz don't jump me im trying i promith

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clarks-letterman · 3 months

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Wally anon new request 4: Bottom!teacher!reader x Top!Wally where the reader happens to walk in on Wally cranking one out very. loudly in the school's most isolated bathroom & has an inner debate about saying something. They proceed to accidentally make noise, prompting Wally out of the stall (his pants poorly concealing his erection) & trying to turn on his charm before taking the opportunity he has to dominate the reader (& he gets very. sloppy with it) cause he notices how distracted they are from the entire situation.

A.D.I.D.A.S. | alive!wally clark x teacher!male!reader

a/n — yes, the title is a Korn song. sue me (please don't) fun fact: grammarly said this had 150 "premium errors"🤓☝️nerds. if i say it's late at night will that make me exempt from blame for the probable grammatical errors

summary — check the ask! basically the same build-up to the smut

warnings — smut (sooo 18+), teacher/student pairing, facefucking (Wally receiving), rimming (Wally receiving), anal sex

words — 4.7k

~~~

Only people who had nothing better to do skipped class, so that’s why Wally skipped lunch instead. At a time when he would be scarfing down the scarce protein found on the high school lunch menu and rushing to finish whatever homework he forgot to do the night before, he chose to negate all of his troubles for something more enticing. Smudges of graphite were smeared on the back of his left hand from writing an essay for your class all night and left his hand feeling sore, his head feeling too occupied to conjure up a fantasy before hauling into overdrive to stage each production required for his dreams. The underside of his hand complimented the rest as he stroked his dick, the bristling bundle of his dark pubes sprawling out over the undone flaps of his jeans pressed against his hand every time he reached the base and traveled back. It was done with the same fiery passion he had for you when you paired him with someone he openly disliked in class for a group project—for the times when you wouldn’t give him an extension because he had football or family matters. For the times when he thought that you were too stuck up and needed a hefty dose of dick to get the stick out of your ass. So now he was relieving himself in the men’s bathroom, it only seemed like a fair trade. If you got to fill his nights with readings, assignments, and studying for the next pop quiz, he got to let you take up the space in his head. He got to dampen the wad of toilet paper in his hand with the results of his endless thoughts about you.

The bathroom was expectantly dingy, painted in yellow from the incandescent bulbs buzzing out waves of it. Wally’s vibe proved to be combatant to the do-what-you-need-to-and-leave-as-fast-as-you-can mentality that this restroom evoked. It was the last one on the list for Split River’s renovations, and therefore the place that people went to the least. Cascades of shadows form a sloped line against the wall of the stall like the setting sun unevenly tilting through a set of blinds, the wall climbing higher than the black hair on Wally’s head as he leaned back against it.

He could still smell the pencil shavings on his hand, the woody scent hiding under his fingernails as he brought a hand up to his mouth, stifling a moan from releasing. He needed to tear his gaze away from his dick, his hand acting as a surrogate for either of your holes. Wally had worked himself up to the point that picturing your lecturing lips stretched wide around his dick or your hole taking all of his abuse. He became uncontrollable, ready to finish this as fast as possible. Like he was running a race on foot, only a few more steps until he was past the white and blue finish line. His feet shifted and his sneakers squeaked on the glossy finish of the floor. Another moan escaped his lips, going far beyond the white cement bricks of the bathroom and out into the hall, where you were passing by.

Hall sweeps were a common thing at Split River, and you were stuck with the west end of the building. It was already on the opposite side of the school from where your designated classroom was. You barely knew this side of the school, so you had no clue who’s classroom was supposed to be occupied and who’s wasn’t. Some people liked to duck into classes to hide from teachers, making noise that you had to assume was acceptable and just part of some class you weren’t familiar with. Thankfully, it seemed that everyone in the hall was at lunch, none of the classes offered were in session for the time being. There was no one to report on the walkie-talkie attached to your hip. At least you got to learn of bathroom locations, also known as the main hub for in-school skipping. The faculty bathroom was a few doors down and on the opposite side of the hall from the student bathrooms, the men and women’s entrances being separated by a thick brick wall but still in proximity to each other. But as you walked by them, taking your mental notes of where everything was in this corridor and which teachers resided in it, you heard a guttural moan. It was quick and quiet like a kid saying a swear word before cutting themselves off in fear of being heard, but you heard it. The moan had a tremble to it, a shakiness that sounded like desperation. You knew it was deep enough to come from the men’s bathroom, but you really didn’t want to confront a student for doing something of the sort. But it would be more awkward to let them finish and walk out, only to reveal yourself as having known about it for however long it would take them to walk out.

You had to go in, and you kept your steps light. Maybe you were wrong—you wanted to be wrong. Your eyes flew to the sinks on the left, then the urinals on the right. Nothing, no one was here and maybe you had just heard something. But then, you looked at the two stalls in the back with a sliver of space on the one side to swing open both doors and enter them. It was the space underneath showing their white and orange Nike’s that gave them away, making it clear that they had no intention of using the toilet for its intended purpose. They were backed away to the wall of the stall, and you knew that you had to beckon them out. You held your breath, thinking about what to say and if you even wanted to say anything. Would it just be better to turn around and leave? They weren’t hurting anyone but…

Before the debate could come to a conclusion in your head, your walkie-talkie rung out, filling the bathroom with an echo of the grainy voice of another teacher. This bathroom must have been far off from the rest of the school, now that you thought about it. The kid in the stall probably wasn’t even skipping lunch, he was probably skipping a class on the other side of the school. Multiple periods for lunch overlayed with other classes to fit the entire student body into one cafeteria, you had to remind yourself, so it wasn’t a far cry from being reasonable.

Something else that was expected was the teen in the stall finally accepting that he was caught hopefully clean-handed. You could hear fabric shifting and a soft plink ring out from something being thrown in the toilet. He flushed it and then there was the sound of a zipper being pulled back into itself. The lock on the stall was the next noise, the door swinging open after a beat. Out came Wally, a student in one of your later classes of the day after every lunch period is said and done. You considered him to be a decent student, most of his papers and in-class work earning him low B’s and high C’s. Maybe you were a harsh grader, but you really didn’t have a grasp on it yet due to this being your first year of teaching. Regardless, you didn’t expect him to be the one to walk out. You only had as much knowledge of him as he was willing to give you through fifty-four-minute classes, five days a week, for the past fifty-or-so days, but he would never do something like this. He would never be stupid enough to walk out with his boner so prominently forming a line in his jeans, either. But he kept walking towards you without letting it hinder his movement, the same swagger present in his step that he had walking into your class.

“Mr. Clark,” you sighed, taking the responsibility as it was your job to confront him. You tried to stay combobulated as he went for the sink, turning to the side to show the real size of his tent that the front couldn’t show. Crossing your arms, the pressure put on your chest exhumed the words stuck in your throat, “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

He didn’t look like he was worried about being caught, in fact, he was ready to lie his ass off. The faucet handle squeaked when he turned it off with one of his wet hands. He didn’t bother going for the paper towel dispenser less than a step away, instead, he turned to you and made the intentional choice to rub his palms over his denim to dry them. It was only for a moment, but he made sure to let his hands ghost his crotch in their proximity.

“I was just finishing up,” he decided to say, a slight shudder slipping out at the obvious satisfaction he got from his hand going over his covered shaft. Keeping it simple was the easiest way to skate by you, if you were willing to let him. Wally went to go around you, but your hand found his chest and stopped him in his tracks. His Nike’s scuffed the floor and let out a high-pitched squeak when he stopped, the dissonant symphony continuing as you used a little force to guide him back into the middle of the bathroom. He may have been on the football team, but he was in no position to fight you, not when you were closer than you had ever been to him.

“Finishing up what? Come on, be honest and it’ll be easier for you,” you had to quote some late-night cop show for the coercive words you angled at him. You never had to do something like this—maybe you should have taken him in silence to the office. But even the quiet drawls of each breath reminded you of his visible frustration during the tests he took in your class, the consequences of his emotion you wanted to be the victim of. He had the right tools to jackhammer away at your stone-cold treatment of him, but that was mostly to act professional. You could never make it to the office.

“I think you know what it is. I don’t have to tell you.” He laughed. He leaned in closer, pushing against your hand that still hadn’t left his chest. The fabric of his plain white t-shirt underneath his staple letterman was thin and flimsy and let you feel the light definition of muscle underneath. He wasn’t a beast but he was still young, still had time to bulk up. At this moment, though, it was everything you needed it to be, “What are you gonna write me up for, Teach?”

You looked into his soft eyes, “Nothing. Just… get back to class.”

“No way, you’re staying to learn with me,” he was the one to pull away from you even if he was leaning into this absurd turn of the conversation, doing a quick turn on his heel in disbelief and gratification. He refused to leave even though you stepped aside to let him pass. “I’ll give you something to write me up for and help out my favorite teacher. Get on your knees.”

“Mr. Clark,” you protested. Speaking his name so pure and so isolated would probably make you forget about your position and that he was your student. You could get fired for this, but Wally continued regardless. It’s not like this would make him look bad. If either of you were caught like this—which was slim to none given how out of the way this bathroom was, but the mere sliver of a chance was enough to make you believe it was more than likely to happen—would boost his social credit and be spun into a sob story for him, making you look like the monster in this situation. You had power, the power to stop this and send him walking to the office and having him return to class with a lifetime’s worth of detention, but you could be Wally’s little mistake for the next twenty minutes.

“No talking while class is in session. Don’t you usually say that? It sounds so fucking stupid,” he laughed again. Wally pushed the sides of his letterman jacket behind him to open the gate for easy access to his jeans. The dark jeans had a golden button that he fooled with for a second before undoing it, and then the matching brass zipper followed in his haste. His hands were a little shaky as he did it like he needed release from working himself up beforehand. He parted the flaps of his jeans to show off a pair of solid white tights encasing his massive erection. It filled the front of his briefs to the point that it looked like it would flop out any second, and he had a dark shrub of curly pubes peeking over the waistband. There was precum leaking from the tip that caused the white fabric to become see-through and cling to the tip of his dick. It confirmed your long-forgotten suspicion that he was in the stall, masturbating. “I don’t listen to what you have to say because I want that mouth to be used for something else…”

If you hadn’t fallen to your knees by this point, the sight alone would have made you too weak to stand. You were eye-level with the tent he formed and it protruded much more than when it was hidden in the dark behind his jeans. His relaxed and casual clothing contrasted the more formal ones you had to wear, the cotton dress pants doing little against the hard linoleum. You could feel bruises already setting into your knees before the fun had even started, wondering if the purple would leak through the fabric of your pants like his precum.

“For our first lesson—we’ll be going over how to handle a big piece of meat.” His thumbs hooked into the elastic of his underwear, stretching out as he half-circled around his thighs to push down his underwear. Somehow, his dick looked bigger now that its shape wasn’t hidden by his tent. His girth matched his length to create something of a beast, something they should confiscate from him for being too dangerous. No wonder he struggled to hide it when he came out of the stall, there was no possible way to not show it when he was fully hard.

His steps toward you were a lot smoother, and a lot more coordinated now that the stiffness in his pants was finally free. It swayed from side to side with each step, drawing your attention like a teacher rounding up the class. Your entire school of thought was out the window at the hypnotic sight, all streams of consciousness flowing towards the idea of him—it was all you could think about. When he neared you, the length of his dick was the same as the distance between you. He took it into his hand, pointing it up towards the ceiling and moving closer before letting it fall down on your face and bob around.

“I know you’re new to this whole thing.” He smacked his dick over your face by holding the base. He pulled his shaft up and carelessly let it fall against your face. “But you need to learn what runs things around here, Teach.”

It was rare that Wally found himself at a loss for words, always having a remark that needed to be said—most likely in your class—but here, he had nothing to say when his dick was on the tip of your lips. The heat was pouring in and melded with your equally warm mouth, adding a wetness that could have made Wally cum then and there. His cheeks filled with air and he expelled it with disbelief. He didn’t expect your mouth to feel so good, or for you to be so good at taking him. Never would he have guessed that a teacher could be such a slut.

He guided you slowly down his length, not to let you learn its curves and ridges and to let your mouth get used to it, no, he had to take it slow or else he would burst. He had spent a good ten minutes tugging on his dick without lotion, just the dry touch of his hand and a little spit that took him a long way and now he wanted to enjoy the massive step-up from his hand and vivid imagination to the very real feelings and sight of you sucking his dick.

“Fuck, yeah,” he moaned and bit his lip, watching you finally bury your nose in his pubes. Looking away when you looked up at him with eyes that eagerly waited for his command, his hand slid into your hair to grab a fistful of it. He kept you at the base of his dick, softly grinding himself against your face. He needed to bury himself deeper but he was as deep as he could go.

There was a still moment where his shaky breaths matched your quick ones ruminating over his crotch, warmth that matched what he radiated out. He reeled himself back, you could hear the imaginary tick, tick, tick in your head as every inch escaped your mouth before sliding back in faster than the first time he did it. The way his hips slowly backed away from you felt like the fleeting hope when you reached the top of a roller coaster with a steep drop, and it was plunging right into the pit forming in your stomach. He did it until a rhythm of hip swings and moans swelled. The cherry on top was the way your mouth started to fill with spit and spill out as his cock forcefully brought it out with it, only to slam some of it back in and leave the rest spilling over your chin and the sides of your mouth. You couldn’t help but get hard at the treatment, at the way he stretched out your mouth alone.

Wally heard your belt’s buckle clink against itself as you fiddled with it, being thrashed around a little too much by his fast thrusts to properly undo your belt. He stopped you just as you pulled the end of the strap out, the leather stiff and still wrapped around your waist even without it looping through the hole in the belt to tuck itself away in.

“Don’t touch yourself, dude.” He said plainly, there wasn’t a hint of teasing behind it. It was a command. His hand lightly tapped the side of your face as a reminder. It wasn’t a full-on slap, but it felt like the precursor to someone readying their aim before really committing to it—a warning. You felt just like him, your dick straining against the looser fabric of your pants. It must have been painful to be so worked up and have to tuck it away in such an awkward position, and now he was returning the favor by not letting you find relief.

At a certain point, when your jaw started to ache and you could tell that your lips were fed up with the abuse, he pulled himself out of your mouth with a snicker and an “Oh, fuck.” He didn’t do it for you, though, he did it because one more slip into your throat and he would have coated your throat in cum like a parent trying to force cough medicine down. He knew you would’ve sputtered and probably sent him to the office regardless of this extracurricular going so well, so he had to be careful even if he wanted to defile you. Maybe if you looked more like a mess than you already do, that option would be out of the window. Your hair was ruffled by his hands raking through it and there were stains on the sides of your face—what exactly was spit caught in the crossfire of Wally’s throatfucking and what were tears at the occasional gag was unknown.

“Now, for the next lesson.” He continued to assume power over you, letting his sloppy cock hit you in the same way as before. It left a line of your own spit across your face as if he was obsessed with waving it in front of you. He stopped fulfilling his addiction to making you a mess quickly when he turned around while keeping you in the same position, introducing you to his ass that you would also have to get acquainted with.

His jacket covered some of his butt, but he pulled it up with one hand so you could see the full thing. The thick trim at the bottom was the school colors, rounding off the curve from his ass to the small of his back and reminding you that this was an ass you would still have to see in the halls, one that you couldn’t look away from. You’d have to pay more attention at the football games, because Wally was sure to drag you to them from now on, and this was more of a sight than his front side had been. He was rather modest in size and mostly hairless around the back, a light tracing of hair revealing itself when you used your hands to part his cheeks. They filled out your hands, his ass being firm yet squishy enough to almost seep through the space between your fingers. There was more than enough to play with, but you were interested in his untouched hole.

Just like yours, Wally never had anything inserted into his hole. That is, from what you could tell. You were too busy rimming him to ask and he was too busy enjoying the feeling to give you a proper answer that wasn’t a hastily blurted-out profanity or half-slurred plea to keep going. Your jaw couldn’t seem to get a break from his torment, having to subtly move every time your tongue extended to lick around his hole. The sounds of him welling up spit in his mouth to make his dick extra slick could be heard from the other side, though you couldn’t see it happening.

You noticed that one specific movement—particularly where you flicked your tongue up, stretching Wally’s hole and continuing to lick all the way up to the divot where his tailbone was—sent shivers down his spine. His head tilted back and his raven black hair bunched up at the collar of his jacket from above. You tried a few other tactics like licking in the opposite direction until you reached his balls, using his taint as a bridge between his hole and sack to travel down with your tongue, and laying your tongue flat over his hole to stimulate the ring of nerves in one go.

When Wally deemed his dick to be lubed up to his liking—and totally not because he could have cum from your amazing work—he pulled you away from his ass.

“Come on, I know you’re not done after that,” Wally sneered, turning around to see you, a bit breathless with sweat forming on your forehead. Your formal clothes were really doing you no favors with how your dick was trapped and you had to keep all this heat in without taking anything off. “Time for lesson number three, buddy: don’t fucking interrupt the teacher.”

He hooked an arm under your elbow and brought you to your feet. The sudden rush was enough to make your head spin, or maybe it was the way he turned you towards the sink and was quick to lift you up onto its surface. He positioned you between the two sinks, your thighs making contact with their white porcelain as the space was barely enough for you to fit without some overlap. Finally, he let you have some freedom of movement down there. He was the one to undo your belt and pull down your pants and underwear while doing all the work for you. He sat you up against the sink, the counter having more than enough room to let you sit—and lean back—on it so that your back was touching the mirror.

Your ass was scooted forward, allowing him to do all the lining up that was required to easily slide himself in. Given that it was your first time, the pain was very real, and the solid countertop and mirror made your writhing when his tip pierced your ass feel restrictive. He treated it the same as your mouth, slowly sinking in like he was inching himself into a pool with frigid water, the shock making him lose all composure in the best ways possible. And when he was buried as deep as he could be, he stood there, one hand on your hip and the other against the mirror. His face was impossibly close to yours, his soft eyes darkening in the shadow of the yellow light above. It cast a dark shadow to make what would usually be unassuming eyes look dark with intention.

But then, his lips pressed to your puffy ones. They stung at the contact but the pain detracted from his gradual movements. While it started slow, it quickly became a rough fucking that rocked you back into the mirror. Wally could only take so much build-up before he could no longer hold himself back. There was another motivation too—your teaching style. Some of his thrusts were intentionally rough, and most of his actions had derived from when you paired him up with someone he found annoying and you refused to let him swap partners. For all the homework he had to begrudgingly sit down and finish instead of jerking off or doing anything he actually liked. This was his own lesson for you, and you had to sit back and take it.

This is when you were at your most vocal. He managed to stretch you out just like the syllables coming from your mouth, half-formed and incoherent and held longer than they needed to be. But they strung themselves together on the thin lines of ecstasy. He was so painful in the way that he fucked you against the mirror like you were trapped between a rock and a hard corner. Short strands of his hair separated from the rest as he bowed his head, looking at his work from above and finding pleasure in how he jackhammered into you. It was enough for you to finally shoot your load and hands-free at that. It primarily shot up at your stomach, missing your formal top by a minuscule gap.

Wally didn’t last long after seeing you lose your composure and you found it to be adorable. He seemed like he was going to keep going—he had fended himself off long enough from cumming, but he pulled out and side-stepped over to one of the sinks on your side. You watched his hand just barely reach his dick in time to aim it into the sink and spray his load out in strands all over the shiny white surface. He kept pumping, drops of white dribbling over his dick and into his hand with each tug.

The bell rang and that let Wally know that his lunch period was finally at an end. Forty minutes had never gone by so fast for him. He fixed himself back up and left you weak on the counter, presumably to clean up his mess that was left in the sink.

“Your homework is to clean that up for me. And make sure you look good for later today.” Wally smirked and patted your thigh, “See ya in class, Teach.”

His squeaky shoes stopped once he reached the hall and you heard the pitter of his steps fade away. And you were left in the bathroom with a voice fighting through the grain on your walkie, announcing that the lunch period had ended and you were needed to supervise the next group of students having their meals. At least you were more than satisfied with the five-course meal you just got handed and your hall-sweeping duties were over.

#wally clark #wally clark x you #wally clark x reader #x male reader #x reader #wally clark x male reader #school spirits #school spirits x male reader #milo mannheim #milo manheim #milo manheim x reader #wally clark x male!reader #x male reader fanfic #gay #teacher x student #student x reader

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rafayelsmuse · 2 months

Text

Just floating around // Rafayel x f!reader

Summary: Since the beach would be too crowded, Rafayel has to find a creative solution to it.

Warnings: Probs some ooc Rafayel bc I'm not used to writing for him. Some lore so slightly spoilers? (like what he is etc and some aspects from "ebb and flow"). Some silly fic bc somehow I can see Rafayel do something like that? Let me know if I missed any more warnings.

Genre: fluff, sfw.

Word count: 705.

Rafayel was lying on a floatie, floating around in the pool that was set up in the middle of his living room. A pair of black sunglasses rested on his nose as he was holding a glass in his hand with a colorful cocktail. A yellow straw and a red parasol in it as well.

Since it was a hot and sunny day in Linkon, Rafayel didn't feel like going to the beach, knowing it would be crowded with people who wanted to take a dive in the cold seawater. And so, Rafayel preferred to float around in his own pool in the safety of his own studio.

He rested his free hand behind his head, his tail slightly moving up and down as the edges dipped in the cold water. Blue scales adore his face and body. He felt beyond relaxed, forgetting about the unfinished painting that was hanging on the wall, waiting for him to finish it, but the Lemurian hadn't touched his pencils today and wasn't planning to do so. There was no rush in finishing it, not that he was able to do so since his inspiration wasn't really there and the hot weather wasn't helping either.

He peered up from under his sunglasses when he heard the door open and being closed again, watching your figure appear in his eyesight. A smile tugged at his lips as he watched your face, trying to read your emotions.

"Rafayel, what the-" You muttered as you placed your bag down and slowly started to approach the pool. "Couldn't go to the beach." He shrugged in response as you rolled your eyes at his words. "So you brought the beach here." You huffed as he simply shrugged. "It helps me spark my inspiration." He spoke, nodding his head towards the unfinished painting.

"That's what you said yesterday when we went out for food, and also the day before yesterday when we went to the beach to collect some stuff." You reminded him of how he had been procrastinating the past few things. "It's hot outside, a heat wave! Not my fault they didn't predict the weather right." He huffed, another excuse for his procrastinating. You stopped in front of the pool, staring at the artist all relaxed on his floatie.

He patted the floatie, on the tiny spot still free for you to take. "No, we both know you'll end up pushing me off." You refused as you crossed your arms. Rafayel furrowed his brows and a small pout formed on his lips. "How ridiculous of you to even say that!" He huffed, slightly dramatically raising his voice. "Denying my invitation for cuddles. So rude to deny a Lemurian" He grumbled, pushing the sunglasses back on his nose before taking an aggressive sip from his drink.

"And what if I drown? Would you rescue me or would you just walk away?" Rafayel went on. "You are a fish, Raf. You can't drown." You waved him off. "Fish can drown if they don't have enough oxygen in the water." Rafayel pointed out. "Please join me, it's getting all cold and lonely out here, alone in the ocean." He sighed, making dramatic movements with his arms.

You sighed and kicked your shoes out and took off your socks, dropping them near your feet before you stepped into the water. The temperature was nice, not too cold but cold enough to be refreshing. And not too hot, but hot enough to enjoy it. The water temperature was pretty much perfect.

A smug smile formed on Rafayel's lips as he watched you approach him, arms wide open as he made a bit more room for you on the floatie. The moment you reached him, he was fast enough to lean forward and pull you straight into his arms, only to make the floatie sway back and forth.

You yelped, afraid the two of you would fall over but nothing happened. You let out a relieved breath as you positioned yourself in a comfortable position on the floaties, his arms safely wrapped around you as he rested his head on your shoulder. "Happy?" You asked him as you playfully rolled your eyes. "Very." He nodded with a playful smile.

#love and deepspace #l&ds #rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #l&ds rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel x female reader #l&ds rafayel x reader #l&ds rafayel x female reader #l&ds x reader #rafayel love and deepspace x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader

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justfangirlstuffs · 7 months

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A Saltwater Room

Part 3 featuring @scarredlove's Sea Slug AU boys. :D

Part 1 here, Part 2 here.

Wordcount: 2055

As you slept you had strange dreams. Dreams of being underwater yet somehow able to breathe. Dreams of hands gently cradling you and bright eyes peering at you through the darkness, dreams of being wrapped up in warmth and softness. And any time you felt scared, soft gentle words of comfort were murmured into your ears, allowing you to sink further and further into restful slumber.

Sunlight pressed against your eyelids and you groaned. You didn't want to wake up. You just wanted to stay wrapped up in the warmth of your bed sheets... except... how was the sunlight getting in? Didn't you close the curtains? Something shifted against you, and you very quickly realized you were not alone. And you were not in bed, and these were not your bed sheets.

Blinking your eyes into focus, you found yourself wrapped up in curtains and folds of reds and blues and golds. You were laying atop the yellow sea creature, their arms wrapped around your middle, while the blue one was loosely draped over your legs in a way that didn't hurt but kept you effectively pinned you in place. No wonder you were so warm; now that you were awake you could feel the soft hum of their bodies. They appeared to be fast asleep.

Taking in your surroundings you found yourself in a different sea cave. Much larger than the one you'd fallen asleep in. You were currently resting on a sandy shore that lead to the opening of the cave that had two wide arches looking out into endless ocean. Small waves gently lapped over the sand, trying their best to reach you but lacking the strength or motivation to get very far. Big mood, honestly.

Overhead, a large, jagged hole served as a skylight, letting the sunshine in but still keeping most of the cave in shade. A few large rocks sat in the center, probably perfect spots for sunbathing during certain times of the day. As your eyes roamed, you noticed a part of the cave seemed to go deeper, but you couldn't see too far in before it melded into blackness. Still, you couldn't help but be nervous that something might emerge from those shadows.

It then dawned on you that you were far too calm for this situation. You could feel your panic, your fears and anxiety, but it was like there was a layer of... something separating you from it, not allowing it to reach up and pulled you under. Or... maybe you were just so overstimulated from yesterday you just didn't have the energy to have another attack. Regardless, it was time to address the two sea creatures in the room with you.

“Um... hello?” You lightly nudged against them, trying to get them to wake up so you could have some freedom of movement.

They both stirred, the blue one arching their back as they stretched. Seeing you awake, they slithered off of you. The yellow one waited until you were fully sitting up in your bed of sand before also putting some respectable distance. Huh... okay... so far this was a lot... tamer than your first encounter with either of them.

“Good morning. How are you feeling?” the yellow one asked, rubbing their hands fretfully. “When Moon brought you here, I was worried he might've been too late. You were so cold, I thought-”

“Moon?” you repeated, rubbing your head. Your eyes widened. “Wait... as in... Sun and Moon?”

Moon immediately perked up. “You remember us?”

Glancing between the pair of them, it suddenly clicked. No wonder they seemed so familiar and yet so unrecognizable. Because the last time you'd seen them, they were tiny slugs living in your aquarium, small enough to fit in your hand.

“But... you were...” You pointed to your hand. “And now you're...” You gestured vaguely at them.

“Mm, I suppose we do look a bit different,” Sun mused. “Though, to be fair, in such a small space we weren't able to really... stretch our legs, so to speak.”

A bit different. Understatement of the century if there ever was one. Still... you couldn't believe that they were actually here. You thought you'd lost them forever years ago. Your family had been getting ready to move, and you were taking one last stroll with them, in the little aquatic carrying case you had made so you could take them with you whenever you had to leave the house. If they wanted to, of course.

However, your jerk of a cousin stole them from you and you'd chased him, trying to get them back. Then the idiot dropped them into the river that opened out into the ocean. You tried so hard to save them. You cut your hands and knees open on rocks trying to get to them in time, but the ocean stole them away, along with your blood and the tears you cried. You remember being so distraught that you had sulked for weeks afterwards. You'd lost your three best friends, yet no one seemed to understand how much they meant to you. When your parents offer to get you new slugs, you had refused, because how could you possibly replace them?

“Have you been here this whole time?” you asked them.

“Mm, here and there,” Sun answered vaguely. He reached forward and gave you a small boop on the noise. “Looking for you.”

“Waiting for you,” Moon added, his hands worrying the front ruffles of his robes. “Sorry for scaring you. Just... missed you.”

“I might have been a little... hasty as well,” Sun admitted, fingers toying with one of his rays. “I was just so happy. I apologize.”

They... had been looking for you all this time? All these years? What had they been getting up to? Had they gotten lonely? It must have been so scary for them, for their world to explode in such an abrupt and unexpected manner. But at least it seemed like they'd been able to adapt in a way that helped them to survive. Plus, the fact that they were apologizing for their behavior, however well-intentioned it was, really meant a lot.

“So, wait, if you two are here, then where is...” The sentence died in your throat as the pair's eyes widened and a large shadow suddenly loomed over you.

Turning around, your heart leapt up into your throat, clogging up any words you might have said. If these really were your Sun and Moon, then there was no doubt who this could be. Eclipse was so very tall. Taller than the other two. His robes were a deep midnight black laced with gold, adorned with bright yellow polka dots that gleamed with light. Like Sun, he had a halo of appendages around his face that were reminiscent of rays, only more elaborate. Golden yellow eyes shined down at you, his expression unreadable.

Wordlessly he knelt down, one of his large hands reaching out to gently stroke your hair. “Are you all right?” His voice was a gentle rumble, like distant thunder.

“Y-yeah,” you mumbled. “I think so.”

“Good,” he said. Then both of his hands were gripping your face, not harshly, but enough to get your attention as his face suddenly twisted in anger. “What the hell were you thinking?” Suddenly the thunder was not so distant anymore. “Wandering the beach after dark! Are you looking to get eaten?”

The unexpected admonishment cut you deeply and tears sprang up in your eyes. “Why are you yelling at me?” you squeaked.

Eclipse let you go looking panicked, clearly not having expected you to outright cry in the face of his ire.

“Nice going, idiot!” Moon chided, smacking Eclipse on the back of the head.

“I agree,” Sun muttered looking soured as well.

“Shut up! It's both of your faults they nearly died to begin with!” Then, to your amazement, Eclipse scruffed them both with each hand and threw them hand over hand into the water where they splashed, spraying droplets everywhere.

Moon make a few splashes and gargling sounds before playing dead, whilst Sun went full on theatrical mode. “Oh no! Whatever will I do? I need a beautiful strong pearl to save me from this dreadful predicament.” He glanced at you and winked.

A small snort left you, chased by a few giggles. You wiped the stray tears away with the back of your hand. Eclipse lightly touched your shoulder and you winced on reflex. His hand withdrew, his expression sullen but penitent.

“Sorry about that, Angelfish. I got carried away,” he muttered. “When those two brought you here, you were frozen, and your breathing was so slow.”

Shoot... had you really been that in danger of exposure? You gave a small shiver. “I don't do well with yelling,” you told him frankly. “But... it's nice that you cared, Eclipse.”

The use of his name got a reaction, as several of the colorful appendages around his face twitched as a smile spread over his visage. By this point, Sun and Moon were over their theatrics and had come back ashore to rejoin you. Though you noticed they were continuing to keep their distance, even though their expressions and the way they seemed to almost unconsciously gravitate towards you spoke volumes as to how much restraint they were exercising.

“Clip likes to act big and scary, but really he's the biggest softy of all of us,” Sun remarked with a wide grin.

“He's softer than a jellyfish,” Moon teased, poking at Eclipse's side. The latter gave a playful swipe at Moon who ducked away with a soft cackle.

The sight brought a grin to your face, warming your insides. The familiar way they acted, the way they teased and ribbed each other... they really were family. Even though Eclipse tried to act bothered, you were almost certain there was a fondness behind the irritation he was sporting. Gaud... seeing them all here stirred up so many memories, and your head felt so abuzz it was overwhelming. What was once so far off and distance now felt fresh and vivid as though just yesterday you'd been in your bedroom chatting happily away with them.

Suddenly, you were overwhelmed with the strongest urge to hug them, to hold them in a way you couldn't before. And yet... so much time had passed between then and now. You were different, and they were very different. Was it really okay for you to just... pick up where you last left off? Especially when you didn't know them anymore, not like this anyway. But... it would be so nice to have friends again. To have someone in your corner.

“So, what-” you began, however you were cut off as your stomach gave a monstrous growl that seemed to echo through the cave. The three of them stared at you and you were so embarrassed you wanted to hide your face in your hands.

“You're hungry,” Eclipse remarked. Not a question.

“I guess I shouldn't have skipped dinner,” you mumbled, rubbing your stomach.

“You WHAT?” he demanded. However, when you winced at his tone he clenched his fist and released a long heavy sigh. “Let's get you home.”

“Wait, but...” You glanced between the three of them. You still had so many questions.

“Go home, eat and rest,” Eclipse instructed firmly. He extended a hand, and you shyly took it. It was so large compared to your own, but it was soft, warm, and kind. He easily pulled you up onto your feet. “We can talk more later, once you've had time to...” He trailed off, as though searching for the right words.

“Process?” you supplied.

“Yes, that.” He pulled you closer, until you were only a breath apart from him. Your cheeks flushed at the proximity. “All you have to do is call for us, and we'll come find you.” He leaned down pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Warmth bloomed from the spot as your heart thrummed in response. Then suddenly you started to feel very sleepy. You slumped against him, and his arms cradling you was the last sensation you felt before you passed out.

#fnaf sundrop #fnaf moondrop #fnaf eclipse #sun x y/n #sun x reader #moon x y/n #moon x reader #eclipse x y/n #eclipse x reader #sea slug au #justfangirlwritings

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lilyrizzy · 4 months

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slightly delayed day 4 of the 12 days of maxiel advent calendar! for @catofthecanals289 from our alzheimers universe! set in the same universe as this and this.

“Daniel, you have to, of course, aim higher.”

It’s as though the words snap everything back into focus while Daniel tries to remember anything getting blurred in the first place.

In front of him, rows of red-nosed clowns topped with frizzy orange hair stare down at him. Them, he’s not alone. There’s something heavy in his hand. A baseball, he realises. He looks between it and the lines and lines of manic grins, and then Max’s face. His voice is full of laughter, so Daniel must be okay.

“What-“ Daniel begins, but it’s too embarrassing to ask what am I meant to be doing. Max just told him.

Max steps closer to him, his smile already flickering at Daniel’s obvious hesitation.

“Daniel?” He asks, cautious in a way Daniel doesn’t like. He doesn’t want Max to stop smiling.

The flashing lights of the arcade dance at the periphery of his vision, red, yellow, blue and then red again, as a mechanical imitation of circus music plays in a loop. A cheery voice reminds him over and over to down the clown.

“Sweetheart.” The word sounds like a question again, but at the same time unfamiliar. Wrong. “Schatje,” Max says then, and that’s- That’s better.

I love you, Daniel thinks, an electric shock of realisation that is as manic as their surroundings, like maybe it’s being felt for the first time. Then, the settle of it into the familiar warm weight in his chest tells him the truth; I’ve been loving you for a long time.

Wherever they are, he’s safe here.

Daniel turns back to the clowns, noticing now how they aren’t real and are just faces painted onto bowling pins. He does what Max told him to, and throws the ball higher.

To the applause of strobe lights and chiptune, he wins.

Throwing his hands into the air, he lets out a noise of delight in time with Max’s behind him. Ki ki ki, aye, a corner of his brain echoes, but he can’t make the words trip onto his tongue.

“Good job,” Max tells him, his hands a warm weight on Daniel’s waist. A champagne fizz fills Daniel’s belly like it’s maybe been a long time since he’s been touched there, but- No. That can’t be right, because Max loves him too.

I love you, also, he always says. Daniel wishes he would say it now. He can see that it’s true in the softness of Max’s eyes as he pulls him in to kiss him congratulations. Daniel wishes--

--Daniel’s hands are twisted into soft purple fur. At first he thinks it’s a jumper, but then his fingertips catch on the crinkled material of the horn, and it’s obvious what it is. A unicorn. For his sister’s baby, maybe.

As he searches the murky waters of his head for her name, his eyes catch on the landscape flying past him. Too vast and green to be Monaco, the car moving too fast. Monaco is the orange glow of car break lights, sitting bumper to bumper and swearing under his breath. He’s not the one driving now, but he doesn’t know who is either.

“Daniel?” The man says his name when Daniel glances at him, so it can’t be a stranger.

“Where are we going?” Daniel asks, cuddling the unicorn a little closer. It feels nice under his palms.

“Back to the ranch,” the man says. His eyes are very blue and pretty, but thinking that makes Daniel’s stomach twist. He shouldn’t- He has somebody who wouldn’t like him thinking that about somebody else, he’s sure.

Daniel nods. They’re on the left side of the road, so-

“I need to get ready for the race,” he says, with more confidence than he feels, but that must be why they are in Australia. The Grand Prix. Except, the weather outside the window doesn’t look quite like autumn. Looking down at himself, he realises he’s not wearing anything with the Red Bull logo, which means he’s probably late. “Christian is going to kill me if I miss practice.”

The man’s face does something complicated that Daniel doesn’t understand. Daniel is about to ask for his phone to call someone- Laura, he thinks his assistants name is maybe- when the man speaks again, his voice softer than before.

“The race has already happened, don’t worry,” he promises, but his voice is shaky. “I’m taking you home to get some rest.”

“Very good,” he says again, which is a little unhelpful, but then he adds sounding a little more genuine, “Everyone is very proud of you.”

“Oh,” Daniel says, feeling a little stupid, but also relieved. No one can be angry at him if it’s his time off. Unless he fucked up on track. Clearing his throat, he asks, “Did you watch it? How did I do?”

He watches the man’s hands tighten on the steering wheel for a moment, his eyes fixed firmly on the road.

Happy butterflies beat their wings inside Daniel, flying between his stomach and his chest. He made people proud.

“Gangster,” Daniel says with a grin, and because he can’t resist being cheeky, “did I beat Max?”

But saying his name out loud as the butterflies wilt to lead weights at the bottom of his belly. Daniel is pretty sure Max should be here, so where is he? The guy spoke about the ranch, and the ranch means family time, which means Max time. Max is- Max is-

Daniel turns to look at the back seat, but it’s empty. He tries to remember when he last saw Max, but where his face used to be there is only a fuzzy outline framed with a Red Bull cap. He touches a hand to his head and finds only his own curls under his fingertips.

“Where’s my boyfriend?” He asks the man again, his voice high now with panic. “My boyfriend, Max, where is-“ Then he breaks off to swear, because no one is supposed to know. Max might be angry that he told this man.

“Easy easy,” the man soothes, his nice blue eyes back on Daniel as his hand makes an awkward jerk forwards, and then backwards again, as though he was going to try to touch him. “Easy, Daniel, it’s okay, I promise. Max will-“ He breaks off to smooth his face into a gentle smile. He really is so pretty. “Max will be at the ranch. I’m taking you to him now.”

Daniel studies the man’s face for a moment. He seems nice, and Max loves Daniel, and Christian is proud of him today, so they wouldn’t let him get into a car with someone they didn’t trust to look after him. Besides, something in this man’s face has Daniel trusting him. His mouth is kind. There’s a mark just above his top lip.

“Have we met before?” Daniel asks, surprising himself with the question. When the man’s smile turns sad again, Daniel tries to laugh apologetically. “Sorry if that’s a dick question mate, when you’re famous it’s- It’s easy to lose track.”

Strangely that gets the man to laugh. Daniel can’t help but join in as the sound tugs at the loose threads of his mind. Sunshine streaming through tall windows, the glitter of the sea just beyond them. Chasing a spotty cat down a hallway.

“That’s okay,” the man says, “I have driven you lots of places before, do not worry.”

His words are the final piece Daniel needs for his hammering heart to slow. Pitifully, he finds himself lifting the plushie to his face to press his cheek against its softness. It’s even nicer than when it was against his hands. He’s going to-

“I’m going to give this to Max,” he says, words muffled a little. “He- I- I think he’ll pretend it’s silly, but secretly love it. He’s a little shit like that.”

Max will like it, Daniel is sure. Max will like that Daniel was thinking about him.

#alzheimers au #i thought this sucked but on reread I actually quite like it #fic #max/daniel

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prettyoddfever · 1 month

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the sun/moon theory doesn’t actually make sense

The pictures above are from 9/23/06, which was the only time that Ryan wore blue makeup at the same time that Brendon wore yellow makeup. The guys weren’t the ones who came up with their look, either. That makeup came from Pieter M van Hattem’s heavily styled photoshoot earlier that day and then the band wore the leftover makeup to the Boost Mobile RockCorps performance.

Now fast forward almost a year to when they were working on Pretty. Odd. songs...

The Pretty. Odd. lyrics had a lot of weather references because the band wrote most of the album while sitting in Ryan’s backyard on drugs and looking at clouds or whatever you see at night in the desert. Brendon told the Boston Globe that “I’m sure if the weather was really horrible, [the new album] might’ve sounded different. It definitely needed to be what it was for us to write those songs.” Brendon also said:

“We spent a lot of time outside when we were writing the record. We wrote it in the hottest month of the year in Las Vegas. We had a weird sleeping schedule, too. We pretty much stayed up all night and slept during the day just because it is so hot there. So we spent a lot of time looking at the stars and enjoying and experiencing the weather so I think that had a very direct influence on us.”

Then weather and clouds and nature became part of the Pretty. Odd. era’s early theme that the band talked about (also look at the custom car they designed, or the set design for the Honda Civic Tour where Ryan said they wanted to make it feel like the show was happening outdoors). Flowers, weather, the sun & moon, and nature in general were part of that era because that’s what influenced the band while they were writing the songs (and also Jon Walker exists lol. he had a major influence on that album). A big theme with their songwriting in summer 2007 was to keep things simple & lighthearted.

WTDMTN was one of the early songs that they wrote that summer (the band played it for the first time on August 5th). Their interviews made it sound like the guys just watched night meet day a lot that summer, took some drugs, and wrote a cute story. Jon seemed so happy with that song’s fairy tale quality too! He said “We had this idea that the day and the night met each other… it’s basically a fairytale story about two times a day falling in love with each other and the world being day & night at the same time consecutively somehow.” Ryan said this song was like a kid’s story. He had also spent over half a year working on the cabin album’s fairytale-esque storyline (with Spencer’s help) and it had become so elaborate that he was considering writing an accompanying book. Just because they scrapped the cabin album and majorly switched directions for their second album doesn’t mean they lost all of their previous interests... it made sense that they might still gravitate towards a fairy-tale quality a bit.

I think the idea that anything on Pretty. Odd. could actually have some Ryden subtext comes from people who weren’t closely observing the season when the band wrote those lyrics. Brendon & Ryan were not that close in the last half of 2007. Ryan was way better friends with Jon by that summer... they talked about living together, watching movies or writing songs together in the middle of the night, going bowling or to see movies, etc. They were definitely close. There were pictures of them hanging out offstage. Ryan hung out with a lot of other Vegas friends throughout 2007 too. Meanwhile, Brendon talked about hanging out with Spencer and Shane that fall. Brendon & Ryan were together when they had to do band-related events (but even a few of those moments showed a shifting dynamic between the two guys). The guys were definitely still friends! But it’s a stretch when you try to paint a picture where they were in love & obsessed with each other this season to the point of writing lyrics about each other.

The only part of all the sun/moon conspiracy stuff that even slightly works is the idea that Jon Walker might have used the reference as a code in his post-split lyrics to get his own point across (ex: then his lyrics would imply that he doesn’t need Ryan & Brendon to tell him what to do). That doesn’t mean anything beyond the fact that Jon had always been super aware of what the fandom was saying and knew how to communicate on our level. Seriously, he followed the talk online in 2006-2007 SO closely and would even leave subtle references in his journal entries to things the fandom was talking about. Sometimes he was just messing with us (example at the bottom of this post). Some fans had actual “hi Jon” icons on lj towards the end of the Fever era because most people knew he was watching. In October 2006 the PATD livejournal got set to private for a short time and Jon posted on the band’s website “whats with the live journal being down, someone fix it :(” because now he couldn’t properly creep on that particular fan community while the band was on tour lol.

He shared SO much of his photography with fans (including in the band’s album and his picturesatthedisco photobucket) and was just way more involved with us than the other 3 guys. So any sun/moon reference that Jon might have made in his own lyrics later on doesn’t exactly prove anything about the whole Ryden sun/moon conspiracy. It only proves that Jon was still in touch with his fanbase and could use their references.

#ryden

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dumblemonchickenwing · 1 year

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“One day the bird will leave its nest.”

It echoed in between his ears.

Rouxls glanced down at the round dumpling in his hands (Lancer). He could not tell why sudden thoughts took over his mind at this peaceful hour. But the longer silence lingered, the more of those thoughts arose inside.

“He really grew.” Or “Were I actually a good Vice Fathere?” Or: “Do you actually deserve to hold this child in your hands?”

Rouxls remembers how much he used to despise Lancer when he was first assigned to the Castle. How much of a nuisance the little one was to him and he remembered it so vividly: how he called the boy such mean names. He’d call him a water beetle, a silly worm, a yellow beak.

What.? Those words weren’t mean? Even if so, Rouxls will only remember those nicknames as evil in his book.

The more attached Rouxls became, the more hateful he felt towards himself for every small thing he had said or done to Lancer in the past. It almost felt like a cruel irony of fate, for he knew that his old self never would have expected to care for the child in the end. And although current Rouxls and past Rouxls are the same person, the current Rules Card feels that none of his feelings match anything that the past Rouxls once was. Some would say that Rouxls grew as a character but the reality of things was different. He never became “better”. Rouxls may have just experienced some fundamental change in his heart, - nothing more , nothing less. And the biggest part of said “change” - was his attitude toward Lancer.

As he stared at Lancer, he felt something deep, dark and heavy cloud his chest. A feeling that is hard to describe in one word. He was supposed to feel relieved when the child is safe and sound in his arms - fast asleep - yet he feels a strange sense of uneasiness and anxiety. Rouxls knows it comes not of his hatred to Lancer - he does not hate the boy - but rather of his care toward him. Why is the feeling that is supposed to be soothing and warming, is so dark and upsetting?

And then Rouxls starts to understand why.

He is afraid of losing the child.

It is strange.. Lancer is right here, yet Rouxls feels so much terror deep inside - as though Lancer may evaporate at any moment. The more he thinks, the more catastrophic scenarios he sees in his mind - equally dumb scenarios, yet Rouxls believes them all as much as he believes Lancer is blue. Kaard was never the smartest in the deck but he was no complete fool either. However, when it came to losing something (or in this case - someone), he was one of the first to succumb to believing anything.

Adults must never succumb to fear. When it comes to children, the adult must be indestructible. Rouxls was never the type to display a reasonable amount of confidence - for he had far too much of it for his own good - but among children it is better to be overconfident than insecure.

To adults, children are beings in need of protection.

To children, adults owe protection.

To adults, children don’t need to prove anything.

To children, adults must prove they are worthy of trust.

To children, adults must show loyalty til the end.

To adults, children don’t need to be attached forever.

Rouxls knew it all. He knew that Lancer owes him virtually nothing. Yet he could not help but find it unfair, deep down in his heart, that Lancer could leave at any moment, once the boy gets bored. But there is nothing he could do about it. There was nothing he should do about it. Rouxls understands that the only reason Lancer adores him is because the boy is still too young. In fact, Rouxls knew, deep down, that Lancer will grow up one day and he will see through all the lies and neglect the Rules Card has put him through. And Rouxls will not blame him for leaving.

The choice never belonged to Rouxls in the first place.

It was Lancer’s all along. And Rouxls dares never take it away from him. Not by force, not by pleading. Not by hinting. Rouxls must never show any ounce of doubt that may cloud Lancer’s decisions.

Only when Rouxls made sure that Lancer was asleep, he said quietly:

- When you grow up, ..I will miss you.

#rouxls kaard #lesser dad #fanfiction #lancer deltarune #dtr lancer #angst cw

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factorialsotherfandoms · 2 months

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Prompt by @rabbit-harpist - Chayanne and Tallulah finally meeting in person. (Also @becauseplot as I saw you were also thinking of this one). I hope this is fine. I rotated it a few times too many oops.

Mention of injured child, but it's just the comfort that comes after.

Chayanne only sits still because Papa has him trapped. Dad isn't here, but his closest sister had updated him on that. She is here now, he knows that, her reaching out every few minutes to check if something scaring her is actually dangerous or not.

None of it has been; Chayanne is still a bit uncertain about some things here, but Dad is with her and would never let anything bad happen to anyone ever. So, he promises her it's okay, that he'll see her soon, that she just has to let Dad and the Doctor look after her and then they could see each other. That's what Papa had said, and Papa does not lie.

(It does not change the fact that he wants his sister /now/.)

She updates him on the other children she was with, too, just like she always has - and just like he does for her. He worries about all of them - Bobby and Pomme and Richarlyson and Trump and Allie and Dapper and Ramón and Leonardra and all his siblings without names - but he worries about her most of all. He can talk to her, and has been able to talk to her since the day she was dragged into life, listless and not yet screaming. He remembers things she cannot, and that he never wants her to, and now he finally, finally gets to see her!

Chayanne asked, once, what she looks like. She didn't know, and he doesn't know either.

Finally, finally, she lets him know that the Doctor has told her she can leave. There's more that she doesn't understand, and if she doesn't understand then she cannot explain it to Chayanne either, but what she does know is that Dad has picked her up, and is bringing her to see Chayanne.

Papa cannot keep Chayanne any more; he squirms his way out of Papa's arms, dropping to the floor and running.

"Chayanne!" Papa calls, also standing up to chase.

Chayanne is little, but he is fast. Papa is also fast, but Chayanne has the head start and knows where he is going; out the door, down the stairs, cross the balcony over the "subsidiary power generator", then-

He does not make it to the then. In the little walkway between that room and the next, he collides with Dad.

Dad only laughs, and ruffles his hair, and yells, "it's okay, Missa! I caught him!"

Chayanne does not have attention for his parents, though; he stares up at the little girl being carried on his Dad's hip.

She is much smaller than him, but then he knows people grow and that she has only been alive for half of his life. Curly brown hair, glowing yellow eyes, a patch on her cheek and neck where dark skin fuses with grey-purple insect shell. She is dressed in one of Pomme's dresses - one of the simpler ones, left open at the back so that little blue wings have the freedom to move - a little loose on her, but also too short.

Under it, Chayanne can see bandages - they make a thicker patch, and poke out of both the sleeve and neckline of the dress. He shudders, remembering the agonising pain from when she was shot.

She stares at Chayanne, before turning to Dad and tugging on his arm. He laughs, and Missa scoops up Chayanne, and Dad says, "I'll let you down once we get to the common room, okay Tallulah? It's still a bit dangerous here."

Chayanne can feel the warning in the back of his mind. He would sulk at being picked up again, except that Papa is picking him up, and Chayanne will never actually refuse him.

Instead he rests his head on Papa's shoulder, ignoring the way his parents talk to instead watch his sister. With one hand he waves to her, and she smiles back - fangs and all.

"/Is Tallulah your name?/" he asks her, in the same way they have always talked.

"/I think so!/" she replies. "/Do you like it/?"

"/It's pretty/."

"/So are your arms/!"

Chayanne looks down to where the glowing patterns on his arms are providing a low light. Wanting to make her happy he pulls up his sleeves, showing off more of the intricate - if random - designs.

He doesn't ask if she is hurting, because he knows that she is. He doesn't ask if she is okay, because he knows that she isn't. He doesn't ask about their sisters, because he knows the two Tallulah came with are safe, as are the ones already here, and that the rest of their siblings are dead.

Instead he shows off the patterns, and points out people they pass, and tries his very best to entertain her.

Eventually they make it to the common room - Chayanne's parents are always slow when they decide to walk and talk, no matter how impatient Chayanne is feeling - and set the two children on the floor.

"Chayanne, this is-" Dad begins.

Chayanne does not listen to him. Instead he runs across the room, and pulls his little sister into a hug.

"Careful!" comes the warning from both parents, one in English and the other in Spanish.

Tallulah is in no more pain from the hug than without it, so Chayanne does not let go. He tucks his precious sister close and he knows he cannot protect her, that the hurt is already done, that he could not even save Bobby when he was right there beside him.

But...

She's here now! Dad actually found her! Helped her! She's safe, and she's okay, just like he promised and promised that she someday would be.

He did not know what a hug was until Papa gave him one, and Tallulah is still a little unsure. Carefully he explains, in that silent way which comes most naturally to them, and she hesitantly wraps her arms around him too.

Carefully, he leans down and taps their foreheads together - the gesture of welcome, of comfort, of family that they eggs developed for themselves, before the adults of The Order came and taught them what hugs are.

That's when the tears spill. Not just Tallulah's, but Chayanne's as well.

"/It hurts it hurts it hurts/," Tallulah whispers into his mind. "/Big brother, I'm scared./"

"/You're safe/," he promises back. "/You're safe, you're safe, you're finally safe - I will protect you now. Together, we're together, we won't ever be apart again. You're home now, this is home, nothing will ever hurt you again, Dad and Papa won't allow it./"

Tallulah does not know what /home/ means, but that's okay. Chayanne is going to teach her.

And that starts with letting go, but holding her hand, and dragging her to the box of children's toys and accessories to pick out the first thing that she will ever own.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp x xcom #qsmp au #qsmp chayanne #qsmp tallulah #tallulah doesn't even have her hat yet #it's what she'll pick from the box #(when he was first awake after being rescued chayanne woke to find the adults had gathered loads of kid stuff)#(and the first thing he took for himself is his ducky)#of the other two with her... tilin is in one of leo's shirts belted at the waist to make a tunic #and flippa is too tall for that but too short for pomme's dresses and so in some of richas' clothes #tallulah got to escape the infirmary first because the big obvious wound on her shoulder meant she got her checkup first #she has a hearing test booked for a few days and they're working on making her inhalers #the other two are still having things like basic blood tests and lung checks and all that #tallulah would have stayed with them except she wanted to meet chayanne #they'll be along together in a bit #chayanne is supposed to be in class with the other eggs but couldn't concentrate with needing to guide tallulah through being rescued #so missa rescued him from school for the day #i say school #i mean the adults take it in turns to teach them bits of what they know #niki was teaching a cooking class! where its more she makes bread or cakes or cookies with them than directly teaches #and with some help from other adults because many kids near ovens #styled much more like baking for fun than a class #but still important lessons!#anyway stop rambling now #back to op for me

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fantasma-de-la-cueva · 5 months

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Hey guys, I was rewatching AvM and I have a question: does anyone else feel like Purple is younger than the other stick figures? I ask this because I feel “odd” about his attitude compared with the CG, as if he was still a kid. But before starting I want to point that this idea not only is due to Purple’s behaviour, I see this too because sometimes he looks a few inches shorter than the color gang. Now we can start:

In the “Villangers” episode he seems to be very fast into jumping in conclusions, in this episode he jailed Blue and Green for trading with the villagers and thinking he got replaced. While this is a traumatic response the fact that the decision was to jail them shows that he was having a bad time with learning how to deal with his emotions, something that in fiction gets relationed with teenangers and troubled kids tropes to show that they are troubled. To reinforce this idea: before we were given Purple’s past this scene seemed like a trantum from a brat, or, a kid with no emotional control and full of impulses.

In the next episode the way he resigned to give back the dragon’s egg. I don’t feel like it was genuine at all (specially with all the traumatic stuff), but felt more like a scolded kid that learned a lesson by force and has to live with it now. With this in mind, we can see that at this point Purple still kept some of the kindness his mother showed to him, but was slowly sliping into his “dark side”. This changes in behaviour and creation of personality are usually related to teenanger years and characters due to the importance of this life phase in the molding of the future adults. In narrative levels we should point that this struggle between selfishness and kindness attitude are often related to teen characters that will either grow out of it and mature or become antagonists in the future.

All his attitude in the AvLoL short. What can I say about this? I’m not going to center on the “he hacked and ate the champions’ data to win” stuff because this, from my perspective, can be saw as a massive tantrum without the context of ep 29. Rather I want to point that while this was a tantum, it came from a very emotionally wounded child that recently lost a chance to see a father that didn’t cared about him due to high expectations and lack of appreciation in the “trying” part, of course he was bitter and angry with the gang, specially given that he wasn’t cool-headed. After this I want to point that he did a very novice (and stupid) thing: instead of destroying the gang’s tower he rushed to protect his tower, losing the game, showing again that while he is still cunning and sneaky he still had a lot to learn and it showed that he was childish prideful and reckless, not able to make priorities or sense with his actions. The second thing I want to point in this is the sore loser attitude: this attitude is often associated with kids; he also sits down with the head hidden in his knees, posture that is associated with childish behaviour too, reinforcing this “toxic child player” profile of the character and the gang has to comfort him after this.

In “The witch”, when he tells the gang what he wants to do with them he is very excited and starts to move his arms like crazy, and being honest, after the other sad points I want to say that this is very childish in a cute way. In “parkour” the way he laughs at the gang’s panick after Yellow falling and returning and the way he shows the gang that it was a “safe” environment seems like a kid showing older people that they don’t need to worry. Later, in the same episode, King headpats him like a child and he seems very happy, an interaction usually showed between an older and younger character and in this case is a way to manipulate him with affection, usually a toxic trait that is often showed when a kid is being manipulated by toxic adults (keep in mind that before ep 29 and 30 we thought king was a psycho). Purple also claps in exciment at King’s plan, like a kid celebrating a good idea they had or a plan that they really like and want to do.

In “the ultimate weapon” episode we can see that when he tries to take the staff he really looks like throwing a tantrum in a very “I want to have it too” way, another behaviour that is often relationated to childish behaviour, specially from kids that are often seen as selfish, troubled or that lack social skills/ettiquete. In the real-time version we can see that while TSC and King were fighting Purple was in fear and having a mental breakdown. How he expressed this?: By curling up against the wall with head against the knees and hands covering his head, then grabs his head and hits it with his hands. This is used in fiction to show scared kids in a very dangerous situation.

In the “note block universe” there is a theory that the rythm types used can be readed as an introduction to Purple’s introspection. Is also interesting that the first rythm we see is a very childish song sang by talking animals, tropes very used in animation; animation is a very stigmatized media due to “is for kids” stereotype, but if this “theory” is something really took in mind in the production of the episode then the stereotype is used to point that Purple is still a kid, which just makes his story more heartbreaking than what alredy is. But despite the heartbreaking stuff it makes the hug between him and Green as something really beatiful and heartwarming, like a big brother comforting and cheering his little sibling.

In “The king” when he shows King his capacities and abilities he waves his arms and points at himself to get his attention and approval, his hole body screaming “look at me, I’m very good! Did I impressed you? Did you liked it?”, very common in kids that try to prove themselves to adults. When King suffers his introspection we see Gold turning into Purple as he started to see Purple as a new adopted child, idea reinforced by the flashbacks we get during the blast scene. When he is trapped in that black space we can see him crying with his “head on knees” stance again. And when he gets adopted by king we can see some childish exciment, in the credits this new family are in the same park King and Gold used to go in the past, which ends the parallelism of a hurted father adopting someone that ressembled his kid.

In the shorts we can see more of Purple being a kid by doing things like offering King a cookie as a surprise, inviting him to skate while spinning in a very “Lets do something cool” way and waving hands in exciment while King chuckles at this. In the “piggie love” short he is the only one that reacts like a kid: he covers his eyes with both hands to not see what’s going on.

After pointing all of this I would say that I believe Purple is even younger than the color gang. This leaves us with a character that had to met his father’s expectations as a very young kid and suffered an abandoment, then he had to bury his mother a few years later (I headcannon that he was probably even younger than his actual age) and had to grow up very fast to survive completly alone in a world where he didn’t had any support and ended up turning into a sneaky backstabber with emotional troubles and no control over impulses due to lack of guiadance and the trauma scars, which is just heartbreaking for anyone to go thru. At the end he ended up getting acepted and adopted by people that cares about him, but the fact that this painful story repeats itself is way too common in our society and makes it more sadder, but also serves to move us and remember that we have to make our part too.

#alan becker #animation vs minecraft #avm analysis #avm purple #just watched avm again #i’m crying

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a-deck-of-cards · 9 months

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core 4 polycule hcs ( + some lgbtq+ hcs )

bc i want what they have :(

inspired by this post!1!1! ( go check it out srsly, it’s amazing )

tim is transmasc n bi

kon is cis n omni

bart is cis n asexual but he’s not too sure

annnd cassie is bi n closeted demi-girl

and ofc all of em are poly

tim is dating benard and cassie is dating cissie as well !!

tim is autistic, bart is audhd, kon has adhd and cassie is cassie (im not too sure yet)

when bart is overexcited / overwhelm, his powers go haywire and he really can’t control it anymore so kon uses his ttk to pull bart back to his feet

ma kent would invite them over to the farm where they learn how to make flower crowns with their colours

tim is red, bart is orange, kon is blue and cassie is yellow.

tim and kon were the first ones to start dating, then cassie joined in and then bart.

they would do cuddle piles all the time to get rid of the touch starvation.

tim didn’t want to tell bruce about this yet because he was unsure on how he would feel and whether he could accept it

they (cassie, kon, bart) told him to take his time and whatever happens, they will never leave his back.

cassie have chronic nightmares and panic attacks because of the nightmares.

tim would help cassie whenever she’s having one because he’s the most familiar with it and he’s usually up due to his insomnia

he would stay with her until she falls asleep again

kon, bart or cassie picks tim up to go to places bc apparently vehicles take too long

sometimes bart and kon would abduct tim bc they have no sense of boundaries.

cassie is too sensible to do that though.

everyone except bart have a drivers license to use when they’re in their civilian identity

bart is either too distracted or can just use his super speed without being seen.

bart has the biggest hair out of all of em

so they like to play and braid it sometimes

they also played with tim’s hair when he grew it out.

(short hair cassie supremacy)

cassie and kon are tall and is very muscle-y and tim and bart are small and lanky (tim especially)

so when they cuddle tim and bart have to be on the top or else they’d get crushed.

bart and tim constantly play video games with each other because yk theyre both obsessed.

i feel like ppl underestimate kon’s ttk

he can literally control any matter at touch

so he helps warm up cassie’s stomach whenever she’s have cramps

tim is the only one who gets sick bc

bart’s a speedster and they heal very fast, kon’s half kryptonian and well cassie’s a demigod

so they band up together to try and take care of tim when he’s sick

but tim would say he isn’t for the first couple days until it became too big of a bother

and he has it worse bc of his missing spleen

usually it ends in chaos

#theyre so cute #hshshhshsja #core 4 #young justice #tim drake #kon el #cassandra sandsmark #bart allen #cissie king jones #benard dowd #cissiecassie #timber #autistic tim drake #autistic bart allen #adhd bart allen #adhd kon el

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plisuu · 11 months

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hi bb a somft prompt for you, for Cullen x Connor? 'i couldn’t utter my love when it counted, but i’m singing like a bird about it now'

Shrike is so goooooooooddddd thanks bb! It turned into a doozy real fast. Here you go, have some light angst and soft... softness.

wc: 1.3k

@dadrunkwriting

I love you.

The words seemed simple enough. Cullen certainly thought so as he rolled them around in his head, the syllables feeling foreign on his tongue as he mouthed them. He felt like a fool, staring into his mirror, practicing lines like he was a youth stumbling through inexperience. Three easy, simple words.

He had never spoken them, though. It never felt right. He came close, once, under the stars at the Winter Palace, when time hung suspended in slow motion. He wished he could savor that moment forever, slow and safe, when the words danced through his mind with as much grace as the Inquisitor did that night, maneuvering through Orlesian politics in ways that surprised Cullen and the Court alike. And oh, how they danced, both those simple words and Connor, but Cullen dared not speak them aloud—he would not ruin this delicate balance they had found.

I love you.

The words were whispered into the dark, ink-black sky that swallowed the frozen cliffs of Emprise Du Lion the night they found the Inquisitor. They had searched for weeks: two, exactly. Two weeks too long, by Cullen’s count. Two weeks of sleepless nights and worry and nightmares and anxiety that gripped and suffocated him in ways he hadn’t felt since Kinloch Hold. Two weeks that Connor suffered under the Red Templars. Two weeks that destroyed months of chess and quiet walks and apologies and shared stories over ale, regaling the stupidity of their days as recruits and the secrets they held close in equal measure.

Two weeks that made him think he had lost his chance to say the words that clung to his mind and to his heart like lead, weighing him down. They grew heavier with every passing hour as he pored over maps and reports, desperately searching, desperate for something.

I love you

He pressed those words into fresh wounds and tender skin, torn and bruised and colored with blacks and blues and yellowing purples that littered Connor's broad torso. He wound them into bandages and poultices that smelled so bitter he held his breath as he applied them, desperate to help in any way he could, no matter how small or unpleasant. He pressed the words into Connor’s palms, into his temples, breathed them into dusty hair and across the ghosts of scars both old and new. He forced them into every action and simply hoped that Connor felt them, but those days passed in wordless silence, tense and anxious and red with basins full of rust-colored water and muttered verses of the Chant when it all became too much.

I love you.

The words hurt, the first time Connor spoke them. They were spat in a fit of desperation and anger, tasting like lyrium and betrayal. They pierced Cullen like a dull blade, sinking in slowly and quicly transforming into burning pain, searing and unbearable in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know words could hurt so much. He didn’t know he could want to say them so badly either. How badly he wanted to use them as a weapon, like the Inquisitor had. How badly he wanted to shout them back, to make him stop—stop taking lyrium, stop leaving, stop being as cold and distant as the frigid fortress they found him in—but Cullen knew it would only make things worse. Instead he watched, silently, biting his tongue and swallowing those three simple words as the Inquisitor walked away.

He felt stupid. Regret gnawed at him, day in and day out as he tried to focus on his work. If he had just managed to say it, to say those words, maybe things could have been different. Maybe it would have been the same, but maybe he would have felt some closure. Maybe, maybe, maybe. They were to march on the Arbor Wilds soon, so he pushed the words from his mind as best he could. Maybe.

I love you.

He wanted to shout them, those words, the moment in the War Room before the sky split open again. He and Connor had found relative peace after Corypheus’ plans had been foiled at the Temple of Mythal, after Samson had been brought to his knees, after the death of Connor’s—no, Samson’s lieutenant. After Connor had stepped into the well and through a mirror to end up at Skyhold while Cullen was sure he had lost him once more.

After his return with the troops, things were… better. Connor seemed lighter, the weight of his past shed every so slightly more than before. More promises and apologies were made as the two of them watched their philters burn in colorful fire, the ashes left to scatter across the Frostbacks.

Cullen still could not speak the words as they stood alone in Skyhold’s small Chantry later that evening. The wall behind him was firm and solid, the man in front of him blazing like a furnace—close, comforting, the hearth of a familiar home. Cullen felt his anxiety rising again, and his grip tightened.

“Whatever happens, you will come back.”

I love you.

Now Cullen stood, alone in his candle-lit quarters that overlooked the fortress, cursing himself as he tried speaking the words that simply would not come to him. Below, he could hear the festivities, the victory feast Josephine had planned, in all of its reveling. He should be down there with a drink in hand, Maker knows he deserved it, but instead he frowned at his reflection.

“Rutherford, you are a Maker damned fool,” he muttered to himself, dragging a hand down his face. A soft chuckle behind him caused him to jump, whirling around with a start.

“It’s just me,” came a familiar voice. Connor stepped fully into view and took up a spot along the wall. “Josephine is looking for you.”

“Maker,” Cullen sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever for? Surely there are enough nobles down there to keep her busy for the next week.”

Connor shrugged. “Well, she was looking for me. I asked Varric to tell her I was looking for you. And I left.”

“Ah. I see.” Cullen was at a loss for words, his earlier practice seemingly all for naught. Connor glanced down at him, a small crease of worry forming between how brows.

I love you.

How hard could it be? Cullen felt his face growing hot as Connor moved closer, arms tentatively open. Cullen usually appreciated the man’s offer of touch, his silent question of consent, but in this moment Cullen wished a hole would open in the ground to swallow him whole. He waited too long, and Connor frowned.

“Cullen, if you need some time alone, I—”

“No!” he replied, a little too suddenly, and Connor froze in place. “No, I…”

I love you.

Cullen reached out at took Connor’s hand in his. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Connor sighed, the relief clear in his expression as he pulled Cullen towards him into an embrace. Cullen could feel the exhaustion in the way Connor’s weight pressed against him, half using him as support.

“You should get some rest,” Cullen murmured into his chest, and he felt the vibration of Connor’s replied hum in his bones as the larger man maneuvered them to the bed, flopping them both unceremoniously onto the mattress.

I love you.

Connor spoke the words into his crown of blonde curls as they laid there still fully dressed in an awkward pile of limbs, but both too tired to do anything about it. Cullen tensed, memories of a less pleasant evening coming back to him. But this time would be different.

“I—”

I love you.

The words stuck in his throat, and he buried his face into the side of Connor’s neck, breathing in the scent of elfroot and incense. Beneath him, he felt Connor’s breathing steady and slow.

I love you.

“Connor.”

“Hm?”

“Connor, I…” Cullen voice was quiet, hardly louder than a whisper. “I’m… I’m sorry I’ve never said it sooner. I—”

I love you.

“Cullen, it’s alright. You don’t have to,” Connor cut him off gently.

“No,” Cullen replied, pressing their foreheads together. Pale eyes blinked up him, contemplative but not expecting. Cullen swallowed. “No, but… I want to. I love you. You should know it. I should say it—should have said it. There are so many times—”

He didn’t have a chance to finish his thought as Connor tugged him closer, pulling them further onto the bed and capturing Cullen’s mouth in a kiss, sleepy and warm and soft.

“I love you.”

#cullen rutherford #cullen x trevelyan #dragon age #cullen x male trevelyan #bi cullen #connor trevelyan #one day i too will be able to say I love you and not feel weird about it #dadwc #my writing

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dragongirl028 · 10 months

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Take To the Skies

Holy shit! My first fanfic on Tumblr!? And it’s Onyx Equinox related!? You bet it is, and YOU BET IT IS!!! (Heh, heh ... bet? Get it!?)

Word count: 1521 (😨)

“I love you, Izel. It’s okay. Be br—”

Before she could finish her words of reassurance, a warm feeling instantly emanated from her throat and quickly flowed down her chest as a profuse stream of blood ran down from where the obsidian knife slashed across her neck. No pain, no haunting gurgling; just darkness and an almost complete silence, were it not for the light breeze blowing west and the steady drops of blood pooling between her feet. Seconds ago, she was standing; as the supportive hand of the priest drew away, Nelli’s body fell backwards, and her descent down the cenote began. Her headdress, with its elegant streams of quetzal feathers dancing wildly as she fell, soon came off of her head entirely just before her body made contact with the groundwater in a loud splash echoing throughout the sinkhole. From a fast-paced descent to a slow, cradling slump, Nelli’s body unhurriedly lowers towards the large, glowing gate to the Underworld hidden deep within the cenote’s waters.

A bright flash of white shines as Nelli’s body crosses the gate. Seconds later, she finds herself seemingly alive, standing on the edge of a dense jungle. Ahead of her is a small, yet foreboding range of limestone mountains, the sun’s rays shining behind them just as they were as the star ascended in the mere final minutes Nelli had in Uxmal. The ground ahead of her is reminiscent of xeric shrubland, occasionally dotted with palo verde trees colored with their typical yellow-orange flowers. She looks down upon herself—the elaborate sacrificial attire no longer drenched in her own blood; her feet, hands, collarbone, and parts of her face still painted in bright Mayan blue; her headdress firmly in place atop her head.

“What is going—”

A gust of wind blows behind her. Nelli braces herself momentarily, closing her eyes before they snap open at the sound of a loud roar coming from above. She can only stand in awe as her eyes widen upon seeing an enormous teal and red serpentine-like creature weave though the sky, its flowing scarlet mane of fur-like feathers trailing along its back as the creature flies to the peak of the tallest mountain centered among the range. One thing comes after another, and a large flock of macaws emerge from the jungle and fly above Nelli, calling as they too, fly towards the mountain range, some scattering to different peaks, while others make a beeline towards the centermost peak. The wind settles slightly, and after a momentary pause to collect what she just witnessed, Nelli finds herself staring at the most prominent peak of the mountain range, entranced. Wordlessly, she finds herself walking towards the peak, almost as if something is drawing her in. As she moves, an occasional rattlesnake either retreats into its burrow, or silently gazes as she walks by. Passing by a tree every once in a while, butterflies flit around the flowers, some coming close to her face, to which she smiles warmly. Eventually, she finds herself at the base of the mountain, and a smooth, almost frequently treaded path weaves its way up the peak. Wordlessly, she begins her ascent. Nelli takes her time climbing, and despite the growing elevation, she doesn’t find herself needing to catch her breath or take a momentary pause.

Many hours pass, but eventually, Nelli reaches the summit. She gazes at the horizon from which her journey began, the jungle’s green expanse contrasting with the somewhat drab shrubland sandwiched between it the mountain range.

“Well … I’m glad to see you’ve finally arrived.”

At this, Nelli turns around and widens her eyes. Sitting upon a marble throne—painted in a range of red and green paints, armrests stylized as feathered serpent heads, and a top adorned in intricately carved marble quetzal feathers—is Quetzalcoatl. Appearing in his King Form, he resembles a youth with white hair and yellow eyes, wearing an ornate headdress and red beak mask. Yellow face paint runs vertically down his face surrounding his eyes, a bisected conch shell hangs against his chest, and his shoulders are covered by a green serpent, whose body trails down the god’s back into a train of dark green feathers. Resting on his left hand is a macaw casually preening itself, which the god lightly moves to one of the trees bordering his throne, raising his hand high enough for the tropical bird to reach.

“I must say, you look elegant. Then again, a noble and willing sacrifice such as yourself deserves especially ornate attire.”

“Quetzalcoatl!” Nelli exclaims before quickly but respectfully bowing on her knees. The god chuckles slightly.

“Now, now … no need to be so formal. You can stand.”

Nelli hesitates for a moment before slowly rising back to her feet.

“You chose me?” Nelli inquires.

“Are you surprised? Why, I figured your attire would give you as much of a hint. Your willingness to sacrifice yourself in place of your brother was an incredibly noble act. Not just any god could take such a willing sacrifice.”

“But you’re opposed to human sacrifice. Why would you want me?”

At this, Quetzalcoatl pauses momentarily, staring intently at Nelli.

“… Because I need your assistance to help me save humanity.”

Nelli’s eyes widen slightly and her mouth drops open a bit.

“… What?”

“I’m sure you heard about what happened at Dani Baán.”

Quetzalcoatl pauses for a moment and chuckles slightly.

“Well, of course you did. Otherwise, why would you have been sacrificed, besides taking the place of your brother? Anyway, Mictlantechutli shamelessly began a holy war by abducting Dani Baán due to the ongoing blood drought; though, I know this isn’t the only reason for the destruction of the city. In due time, I shall tell you what I know.”

Nelli furrows her brow slightly, but continues listening intently.

“Tezcatlipoca believes the constant wars and infighting taking place among humanity have spilled wasted blood which could otherwise feed us gods. He intends on starting the world anew at the equinox. I believe your kind is worth preserving. So, I have chosen your brother to close the five gates of the Underworld.”

“Izel? But he’s never fought anyone, let alone traveled great distances without me. How is he even supposed to find the gates to the Underworld!? And even if he does find them, can he even do this—close five gates and save humanity—on his own!?”

“Oh, he’ll have help, I assure you. Nobody can do this alone, not even a god. I have bigger plans for him besides closing the gates, which I will also divulge to you in due time. However, I can’t keep watching over my champion, lest I catch Tezcatlipoca’s attention. This is where you come in: I need you to follow Izel on his journey and report back to me whenever you can. You can … nudge him along a few times as needed; otherwise, you must maintain a fair distance from him, and don’t intervene or interfere in any way. Or else, Tezcatlipoca will take notice.”

Nelli looks down at the ground in front of her before speaking.

“Izel has always been rather fearful. I don’t doubt that—even with help—he’s going to be afraid and unsure of himself. But if you truly think he’s the one who will save humanity … and from what I’ve seen when I’ve encouraged him to persevere … I think this journey will mature him. Whether or not he succeeds, he’ll be remembered by the gods, and perhaps our descendants, through legend.”

At this, Nelli looks up at Quetzalcoatl with a stern, yet determined expression on her face.

“I’ll help you, Quetzalcoatl.”

Underneath his mask, Quetzalcoatl smiles.

“But … how am I supposed to follow Izel and report back to you?”

“I expect you … to fly.”

At this, Quetzalcoatl rises from his throne and a gust of wind blows from behind him to the west. Various dark green feathers from the long train behind him fly towards Nelli before spinning around, enveloping her completely. Small rays of cyan light penetrate through the spinning mass of feathers, which distorts into a large ball floating towards Quetzalcoatl, who now has his right arm outstretched. Finally, the mass of feathers disappears and the wind dies down, revealing a medium-sized heron with white feathers, black legs, and cyan eyes, perched on Quetzalcoatl’s arm.

“Not only will you be able to fly, but you’ll be able to travel great distances instantaneously with my power in order to reach me. You should be proud, Nelli.” Quetzalcoatl praises while looking ahead to the now setting sun.

“Not only will you watch history be made, but you will see your humble brother ascend to eminence in more ways than one. Now, go, follow him, take to the skies.”

At this, Nelli flaps her wings once and rises before taking off in the direction of the sun. Quetzalcoatl lowers his arm and simply watches in silence as his emissary flies further west before disappearing in a flash of light—her duty having just begun.

#onyx equinox #nelli #quetzalcoatl #izel #tezcatlipoca #mictlantecuhtli #fanfic #my work #my fanfic #fanfiction

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